


Interlude

by Cat_Jenkins



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Jenkins/pseuds/Cat_Jenkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot of Hotch after divorce, but before Foyet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Aaron Hotchner stood in the produce section of Highland Grocers and tried to look capable.

It was more of a test than it seemed.

Growing up, eating had been a hit-and-run situation. His father’s fists had provided the incentive to snatch what nourishment a small boy could before the hitting began. Little, underfed Aaron hadn’t always been fast enough, but he’d done his best to escape with as few breaks and bruises as possible. It wasn’t the kind of environment that encouraged a culinary education.

Once he was on his own, Hotch had been too busy to delve into the niceties of meal preparation. Hit-and-run became grab-and-go. It wasn’t until Haley Brooks had accepted his marriage proposal that he was fed with healthful regularity. He’d been grateful and relieved to let the kitchen be her domain. His job had often forced him to bolt from the table, but it had still been the most normal time of his life when it came to nourishment.

When Haley divorced him, taking Jack with her, she’d carried away a large portion of Hotch’s heart, appetite, and will to take care of himself.

He reverted to grab-and-go. Sometimes, not even that.

Hotch gave himself a mournful lecture about having to put some effort into staying healthy for his job’s sake, and for the dreamt-of day when his little family might return to him. It was a forlorn hope he nurtured in the deep, secret recesses of his soul. He couldn’t admit to himself that they might be gone for good; that all he’d get was occasional weekend visits, Haley and job permitting. If that happened, he saw himself trapped in a cardboard existence where hope, love and dreams would never again enter. It would be the emotional desert of his childhood all over again.

So, on the rare occasions when Hotch found himself with enough time to contemplate cooking, he tried his best to pull out of the bachelor habits that threatened to render him skinny and wan…a larger version of the sad creature he’d been as a boy. He vowed he wouldn’t become dependent on frozen entrees. There were developments over the years that helped a lonely, grieving man out when it came to nutritional choices. He relied on pre-packaged kits. The first time he had to shop for himself after years of depending on Haley, he was surprised to discover how many things were available ready-to-eat…or almost ready.

But sometimes stores ran out. And sometimes unlucky FBI agents got hurt and couldn’t manage even simple tasks in the kitchen. And sometimes those hungry, injured FBI agents got cravings for things even if their preparation would prove problematic.

So Aaron Hotchner stood in the produce section and tried to look capable. Or at least not pathetic.

The last case had brought his team to the frozen environs of rural Wisconsin. The unsub had been of the home-grown terrorist variety. After bombing military recruitment centers in several towns, he’d been apprehended after one local police officer paid the ultimate price. Hotch’s team had come out of the fray unscathed.

Until, that is, they gathered at the frozen airstrip where their jet waited to fly them home.

The Unit Chief had received word that Haley was taking his son on a vacation to the West Coast. There would be no weekend visit with Jack. Preoccupied with thoughts of his absent ex-wife and son, Hotch had fallen victim to a patch of black ice as he traversed the tarmac. Twisting with what he’d hoped was cat-like agility and intent…to land on his feet…he slammed into the steel staircase leading to the jet’s hatch, his attempt at athletic recovery forcing his right wrist and elbow to take the brunt of the impact.

A sheepish Hotch landed in the local emergency room, delaying the flight and making the team wait until x-rays and examination determined nothing was broken; he’d suffered a severe sprain. The team was on a two-day stand down, but their leader was given a mandatory four days off, and would be tied to his desk until the wrist and elbow healed. There could be no field work for an agent unless he had two functional hands.

So Hotch stood in the produce section, a grocery basket clutched in his left hand; his right arm strapped in a sling. And tried to look capable. Or at least not pathetic. And hopefully not helpless. Maneuvering a grocery cart had proved too much of a challenge when he couldn’t find one with four functional wheels. The things slewed to the right or left, forcing him to twist his one good wrist in an effort to keep them on track. He bailed on using a cart after narrowly avoiding a collision with a display of stacked canned goods.

Baskets were safer.

It wasn’t too bad. Every time he wanted something, he had to set the basket down and maneuver his selection into it with one hand. He’d found the last salad kit…a bag of chopped lettuce just beginning to brown at the edges. And he’d taken a package containing two boneless chicken breasts from the meat section. But when he thought ahead to the morning, he had a powerful craving for melon. Sweet, palest green, honeydew melon.

Mouth watering, he searched for the small, plastic containers of pre-cut servings of fruit. None. Nada. The store was out of them. Hotch migrated to the display of whole melons. He stared at the large, ungainly orbs. He had no idea how to select one. Or how he would slice it once he managed to scoop it into his basket and get it home.

Tired and aching, he gave a deep sigh. Rossi had offered to stick by him for the first night and make sure he was mobile enough to care for himself, but Hotch had felt guilty for already eating into the entire team’s time off by virtue of his own clumsiness. He’d turned Dave down.

Certainly lack of melon for breakfast wasn’t a tragedy, but it highlighted his current deficiency. And that made his mind wander over the grocery list of all his failings; something he sometimes did when he knew he’d be alone and could wallow in the indulgence of self-pity.

_Failure. Failure as a son. As a husband. As a father. As a melon-picker. Failure._

Hotch stood in the produce section and looked utterly miserable.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Janna Bertrand watched the man who’d been standing for an inordinately long time before the cantaloupes and honeydews.

He’d caught her attention because of his attire. It had been a flitting glimpse out of the corner of her eye. Black suit. She’d had the impression of white shirt, of red tie. Her lips had quirked upward. _FBI. God, why do they act like it’s a secret that they’re agents when you can spot them around here a mile away. Black, red, white. Might as well where a placard saying ‘I work for the Justice Department. Please pretend you don’t notice me.’_

She’d caught sight of him again as he rounded a corner, headed toward the butcher shop at the back of the store. She’d added to her impression: _Kinda tall…Dark hair...A little thin, but carries his clothes well._

Janna noticed apparel before she noticed people.

It had always been so.

She remembered her childhood as a succession of garments. She couldn’t recall the reason for an altercation with her cousin when she was four, but the dress she’d been wearing emerged from memory with crystal clarity. Pale grey. Printed with sprigs of pink and white pussy willows. Pearl buttons.

When other children wrote to Santa for toys, little Janna requested sweaters or blouses or shoes or grown-up fashion magazines the covers of which called to her as she waited in line with Mommy in the grocery store. No one was surprised when she opted for a career in fashion. But they _were_ a little taken aback when she announced she was going to move to Hollywood and become a stylist to the stars.

Janna tried hard. For five difficult years. She learned one very important lesson: success didn’t depend on talent alone. In a city where sheer stamina and knowledge of underhanded tactics to snag clients and publicity could be even more important than native ability, Janna found she didn’t have that level of cutthroat ambition in her. By the time she decided Los Angeles wasn’t for her, her metaphorical back felt like a pincushion from all the knives sticking out of it.

She returned to Virginia, depressed about her failure, but unable to veer away from fashion as the art to which she wanted to devote her life.

Despite leaving L.A., Janna was no quitter. Her drive and expertise couldn’t be denied. Plus, she’d picked up some ideas from her time in the West that set her apart from the prevailing local tastes. Rather than alienate her aesthetic, they freshened it.

The would-be stylist to the stars found that her subtle revisions of fashion were in demand by the power potentates of Washington D.C.. Politicians and their spouses needed help to create the images that could mean the difference between election and an anonymous fade-to-grey. It took years of hard work building her brand and reputation, but socialites and statesmen now flocked to the stylist who could give them a touch of glitz without going overboard.

So it was practically in Janna’s genes to notice the black suit when it kept popping up as she grocery shopped. There was something strange about the figure, though. She was too far away and at an odd angle, so she moved closer. _A sling! His arm’s in a sling. Poor thing..._

When the man’s shoulders heaved with a sigh and then slumped in a way that made her think of defeat, she couldn’t help going to him. Standing slightly behind and to the side of the dejected agent, she spoke in a hesitant, soft voice.

“Mister? Hey…you okay?”

He turned toward her and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. He was heart-stoppingly handsome. And so sad. Eyes with bruises in their depths trained their solemn regard on her.

“What happened to you?” She said it so quietly, she might have been talking to herself. Or the question might have had more to do with the look in this man’s eyes than his injury.

Hotch blinked. He wasn’t used to strange women accosting him. In a rush, he realized that since Haley had left him, the only women who had talked to him were work-related…teammates or relatives of victims. He missed feminine energy in a social context.

“I…uh…I fell. Slipped and fell.” _God, that sounds lame._

Janna arrested the impulse to touch the sling-clad arm. “Do you need help?” The man blinked at her again. She hurried to explain. “It’s just that you’ve been standing here a long time, so I thought maybe you needed…” She shrugged.

Hotch struggled to pull his thoughts out of the self-pity in which he’d thought it safe to indulge. He hadn’t known anyone was watching. And certainly hadn’t expected anyone to care. “Uh, no, thanks. I’m…I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him for a moment. But this was a stranger. She had no right to pry. Nodding, she backed away. “Alright. Just checking. I hope you feel better.”

Hotch could almost hear Rossi’s voice in his head. _This is an opportunity! Don’t be a fool…say something! At least thank her!_ He wanted to find words that would make this woman understand that he was usually very self-sufficient. That she’d just caught him on a bad day. That he appreciated her kindness in coming forward. She was turning away!

“Wait!” _Good one, Hotchner. You sound like an unsub._ But it worked. The woman was looking at him again, this time with an expression of patient curiosity. His brain cast about for some topic that would be safe and appropriate for two people who had no connection at all. “I…uh…I could use some help.” She stepped closer. Hotch swallowed his pride and his fear and his pain and took a chance.

“How do you tell if a melon is ripe?”

Janna smiled. Ordinarily she wouldn’t approach a strange man. But an injured FBI agent who looked sad and hopeful and handsome and had a beautiful rolling-thunder voice…a man like that was worth the risk. Besides, it wouldn’t lead anywhere. It was just nice to be in his presence, although she wasn’t sure why.

Aaron Hotchner stood in the produce section and looked like a man who’d get what he wanted for breakfast.


	2. Melons

Janna was no expert on melons. Unless you counted her ability to combine the pastel tint of honeydew green in ways that made it look fresh and fashion-forward.

But this poor, slightly-disabled FBI agent was just…so… _hap_ less. He needed someplace soft to land.

_Oh, get off it, Jan! He’s gorgeous! And he’s not wearing a wedding ring, so…_ And right there Janna Bertrand, who’d been down the primrose path more times than she cared to count started down a different kind of path. The one that was signposted What’s Wrong With This Picture? One that she’d learned the hard way to travel before entertaining all sorts of romantic fantasies, or…God forbid…giving her heart away as though it were a gift the recipient would want in the first place. Or even assuming there was the possibility of common ground for any kind of relationship at all.

_Is he taken?...Who’s in his past?...Guy who looks like that **has** to have a past…_ She wasn’t cynical…well, not _too_ cynical…when it came to love. She was just careful.

And to be truthful, she was too involved in her career at the moment for anything in-depth of a social nature. She didn’t have the time or energy to devote to cultivating more than casual friendships. Even those were limited to people who weren’t clingy, or co-dependent, or working a hidden agenda.

_Holy merde, woman! What is wrong with you!!?? All the man wants is for someone to help him find a decent melon!_

Janna shook her head and smiled at her own folly.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch was holding his breath.

This encounter was unexpectedly suspenseful. Not because the outcome of what he’d have for breakfast was on the line. No. Something much more was at stake that he hadn’t realized was lurking in the back of his brain on an almost-subliminal level.

Based on his wife’s desertion, and his Section Chief’s occasional animosity, and a host of other minor incidents that might or might not have been imagined or given more import than they deserved, Hotch didn’t think he was very attractive to women. He hoped he was wrong about that. But his natural tendency toward self-criticism whispered that he was probably right.

_Women don’t like me. So I don’t trust them when they’re nice to me. And maybe that’s **why** they don’t like me. They can sense that. It’s probably really off-putting. It’s a vicious circle: which came first, the distrust or the dislike? And what an ugly little circle it is…But…_

_Christ, Hotchner! You’re the one who needs help. Not her. I doubt there’s anything behind her asking what she can do except a considerate nature. Not everyone who’s nice to you will turn on you._

Hotch shook his head and almost smiled at his own folly.

But a tiny, private voice whispered in his ear that past experience tipped the scales in favor of the ugly, little circle’s continued existence.

The woman took a step closer, turning her attention to the mounded display of fruit against which Hotch was bracing his hip. His balance was off with one arm immobilized and he hadn’t had enough time to get used to compensating for that.

“Which kind do you want?” Janna asked. “Honeydew? Cantaloupe? One of these mini-watermelons?”

“Honeydew.”

“Hmmmm….”

She was browsing through the selection, using some kind of criterion for choosing that might as well have been occult science for all Hotch could tell. He stayed to the side and kept respectfully quiet, letting her work the arcane art of honeydew adjudication.

Aware that she was under observation, Janna felt compelled to say something. _Plus, pick a man a melon and he’ll eat for a day. Teach him how to pick his own, and…Oh, can it, Jan. You’re just getting more and more curious about him. And he smells good. Even among a bunch of produce, he smells like…like vanilla…and warm…and male…Okay! Stop right there!_

She cleared her throat and concentrated on instructing the quiet, towering presence beside her.

“What you need to look for, I think…I’m no big expert I hope you understand…but I _think_ if you find one that doesn’t have a lot of scratches or bruises…like this one…” She exhibited a melon with a smooth, creamy skin. “And then, you press on the brown spot on the end? The opposite from where the stem was? It should give just slightly…I think that means it’s ripe. Here…try.”

She demonstrated, then held the melon out for Hotch to touch it and see what she meant.

He stared at it for a moment, then moved to set his basket down to free up his one, good hand. She gasped.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I forgot. Here…” Janna took the basket from Hotch before it touched the ground, placing it in her cart. She brought the honeydew around to where he could touch the indentation on the end. “Now press on it.”

He did…and nodded and tried to look as though he were accruing melon-wisdom. He didn’t want to tell this helpful woman that he didn’t feel anything. _Maybe she pressed all the ‘give’ out of it. Just feels like a rough spot to me._ “Ah…yes…I see…”

He wasn’t going to escape melon-school that easily.

“Okay. Now you find one.” Janna stood back, giving Hotch free access to the entire bin of honeydews.

With the fierce concentration he brought to everything, the FBI agent bent to his task. He wanted to impress this girl. Make her understand that her kindness and time hadn’t been wasted. The first hallmark of a good melon had been clear, unblemished skin. Hotch looked for one that would at least equal the specimen his instructor was holding.

He perused the most accessible fruit, shooting sidelong glances at the one in Janna’s hands, the one he would forever after consider the prototype of melons. When none lived up to his exacting, newly-acquired standards, Hotch looked deeper. One-handed, he scooped through the oversized, pale green globes.

Janna might have anticipated what happened next if she hadn’t turned away for the briefest of moments to put the honeydew she already considered the best in the agent’s grocery basket.

Hotch might have realized where things were headed, too, if he hadn’t been so new to his injury; still not quite aware of his limitations, his inability to move quickly or use both hands. And lost in the all-consuming environs of the focus that characterized most of his mental processes.

_Aha! There’s one she’ll approve of!_

Hotch rooted one melon too deep.

With a hollow, yet thunderous sound, honeydews made their bid for freedom.

An out-of-control avalanche of fruit cascaded to the floor, rolling across it, flowing around and against anything in their path.

Janna’s features rearranged into almost comic surprise…

…while Hotch cringed with deep…profound…unequalled-since-adolescence…embarrassment.

_Or maybe women don’t like you because you attack their ankles with melons…_


	3. Rescue

Mortified, Hotch watched in helpless horror as melons stampeded across the produce department, bouncing, ricocheting, and occasionally bursting open with a wet, messy plop.

His first impulse was to try to stop the flow. His injury forced him to find alternative methods. Deprived of using his arms to good effect, Aaron defaulted to his legs and feet, trying to corral the rampaging honeydews before they could find their way out of the produce section and inflict themselves on the world at large. He danced and spun, slipping and overbalancing with abandon.

Janna, on the other hand, knew futility when she saw it. She subscribed to a more philosophical approach. Melons would go where melons would go. She opted to spread her arms across the rapidly emptying bin and cut off the source of the invasion. It was also a fine vantage point from which to watch Hotch’s efforts.

He looked like a cross between a damaged lawn flamingo and a demented soccer player. She bit her lip. The man’s pale complexion was already suffused with the rosy glow of embarrassment. Physical exertion was turning him a deeper shade of red. She could only imagine what color he might attain if, on top of everything else, he heard her laughter at his expense.

But then, Hotch lost the battle…and the war…and what little was left of his dignity. He fell, crashing to the floor with a yelp of pain as his injured elbow connected with a bin of apples.

His eyes flew wide with dread when a few rolled loose, bouncing around him where he sprawled. In his fertile, fruit-beleaguered imagination, he was in danger of being buried in another landslide, one of Red Delicious and Granny Smiths…

…melons’ smaller, but equally sinister cousins.

 

xxxxxxx

 

“Oh!” Janna’s smile gave way to alarm. “Oh, _no_ …” She abandoned her post, having stemmed the flow of honeydews. Only a couple recalcitrant melons fell to the floor in her wake. Within seconds, she was crouched at Hotch’s side. “Oh, no, no, no…You hurt yourself again, didn’t you!”

“No…uh…I…I’m okay, I’m okay…”

But ensconced among apples and melons, cradling his injured arm, avoiding eye contact, complexion deepening to mauve, the poor man looked anything _but_ okay. The last thing he needed was for someone to ask him again…

“Are you okay?! What happened here?”

The Highland Grocers’ night manager had heard the commotion all the way in the back of the store where his office was located. He’d also heard the loud expletive from the woman who monitored the store’s security cameras. Frenetic movement seen out of the corner of her eye had alerted her to the disaster playing out in the produce department.

One glance at her screens had sent the manager running. He wasn’t too worried about the fate of the honeydews. What _did_ concern him was the possibility of a slip-and-fall lawsuit. It was one of the things they covered in manager training. Sometimes scammers would orchestrate such situations, hoping to squeeze a settlement out of the store’s owners.

But this had the air of authenticity about it.

Then again, the man’s arm was in a sling. It could be the result of a previously successful slip-and-fall set-up. All this ran through the manager’s mind as he pelted toward the produce.

Suspicions were laid to rest, however, when he was close enough to see the victim’s face. No one could fake such a humiliated, chagrined look. No one hoping to claim false injury would be making such insistent protestations to the contrary. No one who was faking would look so genuinely pathetic as he floundered among fruit, trying to lever himself up with his one good arm.

The manager was a shorter man than Hotch, but much more muscular. He knelt beside the embarrassed agent and, with gentle force, held him still. “Sir…please. Don’t struggle for a minute.”

Eyes downcast, Hotch obeyed. He’d made enough of a scene. All he wanted to do was vanish in a puff of smoke. Or fall through the crust of the earth and emerge somewhere where no one had ever heard of either him or fruit. Or…

“Okay, sir. That’s better.” The manager eased his grip now that the man was quiet. “Are you hurt? Anything broken? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Each word increased Hotch’s desire to disappear.

“I’m fine. Really. I’m okay. And…” He surveyed the rogue melons and apples. “…and I’m really, really sorry about this. I’ll pay for any…”

“No, no, no…everything’s fine here if you’re _sure_ you’re not hurt.”

“I’m not hurt.” Hotch tried to lurch to his feet again. This time the manager slipped his hands under the agent’s arms and helped him up.

“Well, that’s all that’s important, sir.” He looked around. “But I’d like you and your wife to steer clear until we get this mess under control.”

“Oh, she’s not…we’re not…”

Janna took Hotch’s good arm and pulled him gently toward where her cart containing his basket waited. “We’ll get out of your way. And again, we’re sorry about all…this…” Her glance took in the entire area awash in runaway fruit.

“C’mon,” she whispered to Hotch.

 

xxxxxxx

 

“You’re limping,” Janna observed, gaging Hotch’s gait with a critical eye. “You _did_ hurt yourself.”

“It’s nothing.” He gave a gusty sigh. “And I’m sorry for everything. I’m not usually like this.”

One side of her lips quirked upward in a smile she was trying to keep under control. “Oh? What are you _usually_ like?”

He didn’t catch the lilt of humor in her voice. “Usually, I can manage to stay on my feet and pick up groceries without wreaking havoc. Again, I’m sorry.”

They had cleared the produce department and were in the broad avenue leading to the checkout lanes. Janna was pushing her cart while Hotch limped beside her, keeping a light touch on the handle as an aid to his treacherous balance.

Pausing, Janna took a quick inventory of the contents of his basket nestled beside her bread, milk and cereal. “Do you need to do any more shopping? I could help you, if you want.”

“No…thanks. I think I’ve had enough for one night.” Hotch retrieved his groceries and tried to smile, even though he didn’t really feel like it. “Thanks for all your help. And again, I’m sorry. And…I’m Aaron, by the way.”

“Janna.” Her eyes tracked down his legs. She couldn’t tell which one was hurting, but she knew he’d bruised something in his fall. “At least let me help you to the cashier, okay?”

Unsure, Hotch shifted his weight. The movement made him want to wince. He fought to maintain a stoic façade. His back hurt and he’d landed on his left hip. It would be sore tomorrow. It would also be obvious if he let go of the cart and hobbled forward on his own.

And she’d probably watch him and add being a liar to the list of shortcomings he’d already provided. He took a deep breath and chose the lesser of two evils.

“Yeah. That’d be nice. Again…thanks.”

 

xxxxxxx

 

The cashier watched the couple making their slow way to his register.

The guy looked a little banged up. But the girl was interesting. Not your standard pretty, but…what was the word?... _stylish_. That was it. The girl looked stylish. So he smiled at her as the man began hefting his purchases out of the cart.

Then, he smiled more when he realized they weren’t together, and the girl wasn’t done shopping.

Janna watched Hotch arrange his paltry few items on the conveyor belt. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I mean…” She hurried to qualify. “…you could take the cart. Use it to lean on to get to your car…? Or you could wait and I’ll help you. I just have to grab a few more things.”

Hotch gave a small, private sigh of disappointment. He knew this was just a chance encounter that wouldn’t lead anywhere. In truth, he wasn’t ready for anything romantic. His heart would take a long time to heal from being harpooned by Haley’s desertion and her appropriation of almost all of Jack’s time. But for a minute there he’d begun to remember what it was like to talk to a woman who would make no demands, would wield no emotional daggers.

Now, he was just another charity case.

“That’s okay. I’m fine and I should let you get back to, you know, _normal_ shopping.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Janna didn’t want to be pushy. And he was a complete stranger. But something made her feel it would be nice to stay in this handsome man’s quiet company just a little longer.

“I am. Thanks again for everything.”

“Okay. Have a good night and…” She couldn’t help the trill of underlying mirth. “…enjoy your melon.”

“You, too…Good night.” Hotch might have caught her teasing tone and reacted in a less somber manner, but he was still trying to dig his way out from under embarrassment…and feeling particularly unattractive…and the pain of not only his sprain, but newly acquired bruises.

They parted ways.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Rossi had cajoled Hotch into taking the pain reliever the ER doctor had provided. That had been hours ago in Wisconsin. It was wearing off.

Limping. Favoring his arm. Feeling the effects of a very, very long day. Preoccupied as he ran his humiliating adventure with fruit on an endless loop through his weary mind…Hotch made his way toward his car.

A light rain had started. The breeze was picking up as well. The streets of Quantico would be dreary for the morning commute.

_But I’ve been sidelined. I won’t have to worry about that. And I won’t have to worry about getting Jack to pre-school on time. And I won’t have to worry about picking him up. In fact, I won’t have to worry about leaving the house at all. No reason to. No one expecting me anywhere. No one’ll be looking for me or thinking about me…except maybe a few people telling the story about the clumsy guy who took out the melon display and made a lot of work for everyone cleaning up after him._

_I should probably find another 24-hour grocery store…Can’t go back there._

Hotch reached his car, grocery bag cradled in the crook of his good arm. It had taken him some time to navigate the distance, limping in the rain. As he leaned the bag against the fender, freeing his hand so he could find his keys, the damp, paper bag split.

Salad kit and chicken breasts plopped to the ground.

The melon, however, attempted to return to its brethren, rolling across the pavement back toward the store.

Slumping against the car, resting his forehead on the roof so he could fully appreciate this moment of sheer defeat…Hotch emitted a deep sigh that ended on a single sob.

He would gather himself, and he would gather his groceries.

He just needed a moment first.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Unhampered by a disabled companion, Janna completed her shopping in no time.

After enduring the slightly suggestive flirting of the cashier, she was ready to go home and enjoy a quick dinner as she paged through some of her vintage fashion magazines.

She had spent most of the evening getting to know a new client. And older lady who was waxing nostalgic for the clothing of her youth. Janna had had some trouble convincing her she couldn’t just raid thrift shops and still present the image her husband’s political career demanded.

So the stylist was going to find elements that could be translated to modern day wear. She’d established a number of contacts over the years. She was sure she could find either accessories that would satisfy her customer’s yearning for the past, or fabric…prints that could be revised into flattering garments with modern lines.

Janna carried her groceries into the parking lot just in time to see the man… _Aaron!_...lose everything he’d bought to the elements.

She hid her smile. It was either find the poor thing’s plight humorous, or break into tears on his behalf.

And it looked as though he was close enough to giving in to his own.

Janna stopped the rolling melon with the toe of her boot. “Aaron? Hang on. I’ll be there in a second. Just need to put my stuff in the trunk.”

It was a dark parking lot. The man was a stranger.

But somehow, she knew it was safe…no, it was practically _mandatory_ …to rescue him.


	4. Good Night

Galvanized by the sound of Janna’s voice, Hotch pulled himself together.

Actually, it was more like yanking himself back into a rough assemblage of what he hoped was something presentable.

He decided she was just trying to be a nice person in the store, and got _way_ more than she’d bargained for when the melons came tumbling down. He would have expected her to stay inside if she saw him involved in another food-related mishap. Or pretend not to notice, leaving him to his own clumsy fate as she beat a hasty retreat to her vehicle and burned rubber out of the parking lot.

She could have, too. Judging by where she was headed, her car was on the opposite side of the lot. If she hadn’t called out, he never would have noticed her.

She could have gotten away scot-free…

_So maybe she’s either such a Good Samaritan she can’t help herself…or she’s a spy sent to befriend wayward FBI agents (yeah, right, Hotchner…)…or…or maybe she kind of feels sorry for me? Or maybe likes me in spite of everything?_ She was watching him, waiting for a response.

_Get a grip! It’s too late to make a good first impression, but at least you can try not to worsen the one you’ve already inflicted on her._ “I’m okay…I’m okay. I don’t want to hold you up. It’s late. I’m sure you have someplace you need to be.”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Janna bent and managed to scoop up the melon. Her voice took on a tough, slightly Brooklyn accent. “Alright, mistah. I gotcha honeydew. If youse evah expect to see it again, you’ll wait until I put my stuff away. Ya got it?”

Hotch was too tired and sore and aching and defeated to argue. “Yes, Ma’am.”

He picked up the bag of lettuce and the package of chicken, stifling a groan as new bruises objected. By the time he’d unlocked the driver’s side door and managed to toss the makings of the dinner he no longer wanted onto the front seat, he could hear the click of boot heels coming toward him in the light rain.

He braced himself, squaring his shoulders, trying to look confident and capable. Turning, he saw her holding out the melon to him. It wasn’t the exemplary specimen it had been when she’d first chosen it. It was beginning to look the way he felt. Scraped and scored.

Hotch lifted his chin, trying for a self-sufficient air.

“My God…You look so...” _…handsome!..._ “…sad.” She’d said it with such sympathetic compassion he couldn’t take offence. “And I bet you don’t feel very well either. Am I right?”

“I’m okay.”

“Sure you are.” Again, so softly spoken it sounded as though she might be talking to herself.

Hotch rallied for what he hoped would be the last time that night. “Thanks for bringing me my melon. You’ve been really great about all this. Don’t know if there’s any way to repay people who are nice just because that’s how they are. Wish there were more like you in the world.” He sniffled. The rain was beginning to soak through his clothes and now he was cold on top of everything else.

“Do you _want_ to pay me back?” _Jan, what are you doing!? He’s a stranger! He could be an axe murderer! An axe murderer who moonlights as an FBI agent!_

“Huh?” _Brilliant display of conversational talent, Hotchner._

“You said there’s no way to repay people who are nice. Do you _want_ to repay me?” a mischievous half-smile teased the edges of her lips.

“Wha…?” Hotch continued to expand on his previous vein of dazzling small talk.

Janna took pity on him.

“If you want to repay me, meet me for coffee tomorrow.” He blinked the most beautiful, brown eyes at her. She managed to come to her senses despite the distraction. “Uh…I mean if you don’t have to, you know… _work_? Meet me for coffee?”

The fuzz began to clear from Hotch’s brain. _Is she asking me out? No. That can’t be right. But…is she?!?_ “I…uh…no…I mean, no I don’t have to work tomorrow.” _Oh, great. Now it sounds like I’m unemployed or something._

Janna let her smile grow. “Good.” She surveyed him once more, from draggled, wet hair, to sling, to what she supposed was a bruised hip or leg. “So, get some rest. Eat your melon. And if you feel like it, meet me at the Java Hut on Seventeenth around mid-morning. You know where that is?”

“I, uh…I’m not sure, but I’ll…I’ll find it.”

“I’m sorry. I figured since you buy your groceries here, you were from this neighborhood.”

“I’m not. I just, uh…” Hotch could feel himself relaxing a little. She was easy to talk to. Maybe coffee would be nice. “…I pass by here on my way home from work.” _Good. Now she knows I’m gainfully employed._ He was too tired to try to figure out why this strange woman’s opinion was so important. He’d think about it later.

“Ahhhh…I see. Of course. You work for the FBI. At their headquarters, right?”

Hotch’s brows rose. _Uh oh. Maybe she **is** looking for an agent to woo for some foreign power. It’s not unheard of…_ “What makes you think I work there?”

“Your clothes. The way you carry yourself. And just a feeling, I guess.” Janna smiled. “Am I right?” When his only response was lips parted in surprised indecision, her grin broadened. “I’ll explain more tomorrow. _If_ you show up.” She turned, headed back to her own car. “Have a good night, Aaron!” she called over her shoulder.

“Wait! Please.” He started to take a step toward her, but didn’t relish the thought of limping like some damaged rag of a man when this woman was walking with such brisk, clicking-on-pavement, _I_ -can-grocery-shop-without-getting-hurt steps.

He was grateful she stopped, turned, and came back to him.

“Here.” Hotch fished a business card out of his inner jacket pocket. An awkward maneuver with one arm in a sling. “In case you change your mind, or something comes up,” he explained, placing the card into her waiting fingers.

Janna glanced at it. _FBI. I **knew** it!_ She gave him her warmest smile yet. “Aaron, I’ll be there at…” Her eyes scanned him one last time. “…eleven o’clock. And I’ll wait for an hour.” _He needs to sleep in. God only knows what he’s been through and how he got hurt in the first place._ “Good night.”

“Good night.” Hotch watched her walk to her car. He waited until she got in and drove away. It was important to make sure she was on her way safely.

And in spite of everything, his own smile bloomed. After all was said and done…it _was_ a good night.

Because he had something to look forward to tomorrow.


	5. Good Morning

Hotch could tell his muscles had stiffened by the time he pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment building.

After opening the car door and getting his feet on the ground, he gave himself a minute to stretch from hip to ankle, working the traumatized side as much as he could from a sitting position. Before he was done, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He was sure he knew who it was even as he reached for it.

_Didn’t take her long to come to her senses. Probably drove the whole way home checking her rearview to see if I was following her…if she’d picked up a stalker. Oh, well. Not a big deal. It’s nice of her to let me know instead of having me show up and hang around until I figure it out on my own._

He sighed. “Hello…”

“What are you doing answering your phone this late, Aaron? I thought I told you to turn it off and get some rest.” Rossi’s reprimanding tone made Hotch feel like a child who’d been caught reading under the covers with a flashlight long past his bedtime.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” A note of genuine concern crept into the older man’s voice. “Can’t you sleep? You need to take something for pain?”

“I’m fine, Dave. I’m not quite home yet.”

“What? Where are you?” Concern had elevated to incipient alarm.

“I stopped off at the store.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Where are you right _now_?”

“Parked at the curb in front of my building. I’ll be inside in a few minutes. Jeez. I’m not a teenage girl out on her first date and coming in past her curfew …”

But the fatal flaw in Hotch’s observation was that Rossi was a profiler with even more experience than his boss.

“What do you mean, you’ll be inside ‘in a few minutes?’ What’s keeping you from going inside right this minute? Aaron? I know when you’re hiding things.”

“I…I just…”

“Aaaaaron…?” Indignation seeped through every extended syllable. “Don’t make me come over there.”

“Fine. I fell down in the grocery store. My hip’s kind of sore. No big deal.”

“You just can’t stay on your feet these days, can you?! Do you need help? I can come by and make sure you make it to bed at least.”

“No. Seriously, Dave. I’m fine. I’m just working out the kinks before I head inside.”

A deep, longsuffering sigh came from Rossi’s end. “Alright. Call me if you need me. And turn your phone off when you go to bed. You can sleep in tomorrow. Might be a good idea to stay in bed all day. You don’t get that opportunity very often.”

Hotch felt his smile widen; knew it would color his next words and invite more kindly intrusion on Dave’s part. “Can’t sleep in. Got a date.” The grin reached his eyes.

“A date? How’d that happen?” Rossi sounded intrigued. And happier. “Aaaaaron? Did you just go fox-faced?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Hotch raised his nose in a display of injured pride.

“Aaaaaron? Did you just point your little snout toward the sky?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Rossi couldn’t keep affection out of his voice. “I know you better than you know yourself. Now, go inside, eat, rest. Call me if you need anything. And about tomorrow…”

Hotch’s nose rose a little higher. _Here it comes…_

“ATTA BOY, AARON! Go get ‘er!”

Hotch could always count on his best friend to bolster his ego. The price was that he’d have to give Dave a blow-by-blow recounting of his coffee with Janna. Hotch heard the connection click off. He levered himself to his feet and took a few, experimental steps before retrieving his un-bagged groceries from the front seat.

When he couldn’t quite get the grip he needed with one arm in a sling, he didn’t mind this time when the melon thumped to the ground. He guided it along with one foot and a peculiar, hopping gait that favored his sore hip. But it was okay.

Because sometimes rogue melons led to nice things.

 

xxxxxxx

 

The next morning Hotch was even stiffer. He’d slept poorly. The sprained arm kept getting in the way, lances of pain jolting him awake whenever he moved.

A long, hot shower did wonders, but it also gave him his first opportunity to look at his injuries. He’d removed the sling with ginger care before stepping under the jets of water. Afterwards, in the harsh, fluorescent light, he surveyed his body.

And cringed.

Swelling and bruises made more livid for their stark contrast against his pallid flesh radiated from his elbow and wrist joints. A particularly black one had taken up residence on one hip, wrapping around to his lower back, rendering one buttock sore every time it flexed…an action impossible to avoid when walking or even standing and maintaining one’s balance. He worried it would make sitting down for coffee an endurance test.

He dressed with care. Jeans and a relatively new polo shirt. Tennis shoes that hadn’t accumulated too much in the way of mud and grass stains. As he was searching MapQuest for the exact location of the Java Hut where Janna would meet him, his phone chimed at him. A message from Rossi.

“I expect a full accounting. Dinner tonight? Unless your date is still in progress…Atta BOY, Hotch!”

Aaron sighed and pocketed the device after double checking that Janna hadn’t canceled on him. _Yet._

When 11:30 rolled around with no excuses or negations, Hotch walked out to his car with a big smile…and only a slight limp.

When he walked in the door of Java Hut at precisely 11:58, the smile widened into a full-faced grin that Rossi would have attributed with vulpine qualities.

Janna sat at a small table with a smile that rivaled Hotch’s own.

 _But is so much prettier…_ Walking tall, Aaron went to meet his date.


	6. Coffee

Hotch’s smile was so wide it almost interfered with talking.

“I’m sorry I’m so late, but…” He shrugged as best he could with the sling impeding his movement. “I’m sorry.”

“You wanted to give me a chance to back out.” Janna’s own smile was filled with mischief. “In fact, you wanted to give me _every_ chance possible. I thought you might.”

Hotch blinked. Some of the good humor faded from his expression. “Well, I didn’t make a very good showing last night. And someone like you…who looks like you…probably expects better…so…” He looked down, noting how sloppily he’d tied his sneakers. The injured arm had affected his ability to dress himself up to his usual standards.

When he looked back up, she was still smiling. And her eyes were warm. “We’re making a lot of assumptions about each other, aren’t we.” It was statement, not question. “Go get something from the barista, or…do you need help?” She nodded at the sling.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” _Please, God, let me bring a cup of coffee back here without falling all over myself! You can do what you want with me at home, but, please, no more in front of her!_ “Can I get you another?” His eyes lingered on the tall latte before her, noting how the nails of the fingers wrapped around it were manicured, but not what he thought of as show-girl. They were comfortingly practical.

“This is my second. I’m still working on it.”

“Oh. Again, I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier.”

“Go. If you need help carrying anything, I’m right here.”

 

xxxxxxx

 

Ten minutes and two trips to the counter later, Hotch and Janna sat facing each other over a plate of cheddar bacon biscuits.

Hotch was feeling his way through this encounter.

He hadn’t dated since high school. He had a feeling the rules might have changed. He wasn’t even sure if this really _was_ a date anymore. When he’d been a teenager, the whole point of dating was to search out a romantic relationship. If sex wasn’t a vaguely visible, sparkling goal in the distance, you moved on.

But he wasn’t in the market for romance. He wasn’t sure why he was here, but he couldn’t deny the secret little thrill inside that said there might be hope that Haley hadn’t sucked all the desirability out of him. That there might still be enough to keep a woman sitting across from him the way this one was: totally at ease…with no outward signs that she wanted to leave or thought she had made a mistake in asking him to join her.

It had been so long since he’d told his life story to anyone that he’d forgotten how. The rules on that kind of thing seemed to have changed, too. Their age gave them the right to bypass most of childhood. It didn’t matter what your parents did or had done for a living when you were an adult in your own right. Being able to gloss over his formative years was a huge relief.

Hotch began to relax.

And to his surprise, he began to enjoy himself.

He liked the way neither of them hogged the conversation. It was two-way give-and-take.

 

xxxxxxx

 

They began with the obvious.

“So explain again why you thought I worked for the FBI? Lots of men wear suits, especially around DC.”

“Y-e-e-e-s…” Janna drew the word out, looking down, a secretive smile appearing. _I don’t think he’s the type to fish for compliments. So I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries and he enjoys this…_ “But _those_ men spend their days behind desks or lobbying for causes where the most strenuous thing they do is shake hands.” She looked up from under her lashes, the better to gage Hotch’s reaction. “You’re what I call ‘professionally fit.’ It’s a dead giveaway. Most pro athletes bulk up in one area or another, depending on the sport. But you’re built for speed and _appropriate_ strength…not overly developed. In this neck of the woods, that’s an FBI or a CIA thing. And since you sort of looked in _that_ direction when you talked about coming from work last night, chances were it was FBI.”

She sat back, watching.

Hotch blinked. He brought his coffee up and forced himself to take a long, leisurely sip. It was the only way to conceal the giddy grin that wanted to break out. _I think that was a complement! I think she just said I look good!_ The little animal inside him that guarded his male ego; that had been sorely beaten by Haley’s departure, lifted its head, scenting a change in the air.

Janna took cover behind one of the still-warm biscuits. _I don’t believe it. I may have found the last of a dying breed. A man who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to women. A man who has no idea how stunning he is. That is so refreshing!_

Hotch recovered enough to continue. “That’s, uh…impressive.” He narrowed his eyes, studying her with his profiling skills. “So you notice clothing and how people wear it, which means…” He stared. He was getting lost in the playful way her eyes crinkled at the corners. With a swooping feeling that was almost like vertigo, he realized he hadn’t seen a woman smile at him… _just_ for him!...since before Haley had left. His ex-wife had been sour and angry most of the time those last few months.

He forgot what he was saying.

“I’m a stylist.” Janna stepped in when Hotch looked a little lost. She detected a certain lack of comprehension at her job title. This was not a man who made any effort to keep abreast of current styles. “That means I work in fashion. I use it to make statements on behalf of my clients. I help them create an image, a brand, really, if they’re in the public eye. A lot of times it turns into a negotiation between what they think they want and what I know will make them happy.” _He’s really listening. Not just being polite._ “It’s hard work, but I love it. I have my own little company now and last year I hired two assistants, so I’m kind of proud of myself.”

“Well you look beautiful. I…I mean…I…I _didn’t_ mean…” Hotch stammered. He’d let his guard down. He didn’t know the rules. But he thought one of them was you weren’t supposed to say things that sounded like pickup lines, and he was pretty sure he’d done just that. _This is what happens when you relax and forget to listen to yourself **before** you speak. Idiot!_

“Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

Suddenly, everything was alright again. Hotch reminded himself to breathe.

“But people must notice how you look all the time. I mean, the way you dress must be like your business card, right?”

“It is. But I get remarks like ‘What a great purse.’ Or ‘Can you get me a jacket like yours?’ But, no…” She shook her head, looking pensive. “…rarely does anyone tell me **_I_** look nice.” Her smile was back full force. “So, thanks. Now you know what I do all day. And you chase bad guys?”

“On a good day I even catch them.”

“How’d you get hurt? Or…” Janna hastened to backpedal. “…if that’s something you don’t want to talk about…”

Hotch’s half-laugh reassured her. “I really did slip and fall. Had nothing to do with work, except we were in Wisconsin and there was black ice everywhere. Yes, I really am that clumsy.”

“No you’re not.” Hotch’s brows rose. He didn’t think she was doing it on purpose, but this was so, so good for his ego. “You’re not clumsy at all. Don’t forget: I saw you do the Dance of the Melons.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I got a few more bruises from that.”

“Awwww…Did you get to eat melon for breakfast at least?”

He looked sheepish. “I couldn’t slice it open. My wrist hurt too much to hold it steady. Stabbed it a few times, though. So it knows who’s boss. But…no. No melon for breakfast.”

“Awwwww…” It was genuine sympathy, but she’d covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

Hotch shifted in his chair, easing the pressure on his hip and its attendant bruise. Janna noticed.

“Are you going to stiffen up sitting here? You wanna finish our coffee and go for a walk maybe?”

It had been too long since a woman had treated him with consideration and kindness. Too long since one had made him feel his company was enjoyable.

Hotch nodded. “I’d like that. Let’s go.”

As they left the Java Hut, Janna started to ask him about family. For the first time since his divorce, Hotch realized he didn’t mind talking about it. And he realized something else.

He might not make it to dinner with Rossi after all.


	7. Hearts

The midday streets of Quantico were something Hotch hadn’t savored at leisure for a long time.

They seemed peaceful and pretty and engaging. He suspected it was the company, though, that was charming him, rather than the locale.

Adding further credence to the fact that Janna noticed how people moved and how it affected their attire, she gaged Hotch’s slight limp and adjusted her own pace accordingly.

When she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, he knew it was more for his benefit than hers. He smiled with muscles that were beginning to feel the unaccustomed use. Before he could explore how sad it was to be so out of practice when it came to the visible expression of mirth, she was asking him about family.

“Soooo…not that I’m hunting you or anything, but…are you married?”

“Was.” Hotch sighed. “Recently divorced.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.” She gave his arm a little squeeze that delighted him. Her touch was unassuming, non-threatening…friendly. All qualities he missed in a social setting when females were present.

“What about you? Uh… _unless_ …” He backpedaled furiously, once again berating himself for relaxing to the point of possible tactlessness. “…unless that’s something you don’t want to talk about. I mean, I don’t want to pry, so…”

“Aaron. Hush.” It was softly said, but Hotch obeyed as though a drill sergeant had barked the order on a parade field. Janna gave him another reassuring squeeze. “Ground rules, so we can just talk and enjoy each other’s company.” She took a deep breath. “If I ask you something, you’re allowed to ask me right back. If I ask you something that makes you uncomfortable, just say. But you can still ask me, because I brought whatever-it-was up in the first place. Sound fair?”

He nodded. “Eminently fair.”

“And one more thing. So far I really like you, and I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you. But I’m not in the market for anything more than a friend.” Her smile intrigued him. “You make me think of an old, vintage song.”

Hotch’s ears perked up even more. He liked the classics, but he was usually wary of telling people because it made him sound older than he was. He hadn’t even been born when the Beatles began their stellar ascension. “Vintage? You mean like classic rock? Like…the Beatles?” He ventured hopefully.

“Mmmm…no.” Janna shook her head. “Maybe it’s because I’m fashion-oriented, but I distinguish between ‘classic’ and ‘vintage.’” She glanced at him; saw he was attentive. _Sooo refreshing!_ “The Beatles are classic. You’re right about that. But there were all kinds of old songs that didn’t quite make it to that level. So, like clothing, I consider the classics elegant renditions that withstand the test of time and have a certain intellectual and cultural appeal. Vintage is more fun. Quirkier.” She gave him a meaningful look that he would spend a good portion of his spare time recalling. “ _Less_ serious…you know?” _I’m not sure this poor man understands gradations of serious. It’s all or nothing with him._

“Uh…maybe an example would help?”

Her smile broadened with a touch of tease to it. “You make me think of a song called ‘Different Drum.’”

“I…I’m not familiar with it.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. I think it’s from the mid-1960s. Neither one of us was musically aware…or even born yet.” Her smile flashed white. “And I’m not asking you how old you are, so you can’t ask me back.”

The touch of feminine vanity made Hotch laugh…something he hadn’t done out loud in the middle of the street for years. “Okay. I won’t. But you better distract me from thinking about it. Tell me more about the song.”

“It’s some of the lyrics. They describe where I am right now, I guess.” She brought her free hand across, holding his arm with both and giving an incidental caress to his bicep meant to be comforting in case she was dashing any romantic hopes he might have. “They go like this: ‘..I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t pretty. All I’m sayin’s I’m not ready, for any person, place or thing to try and pull the reins in on me…’”

They walked in silence as Hotch pondered the words and their meaning. He was pleased and relieved. He wasn’t ready either. It was nice to have all their cards on the table right from the start. _No games!_ He’d never been sure of the rules, but he’d always known that Haley was a master at game-playing. He’d never managed to live up to her standards.

Again, the small smile he wasn’t used to hosting with such persistent frequency stretched his lips. “Soooo…you’re saying you think I’m pretty?”

Janna’s laugh was loud and long and genuine. Hotch decided he quite liked it.

 

xxxxxxx

 

When Janna thought Hotch had walked enough to ward off incipient stiffness, they found a bench in a small, handkerchief-sized park.

“Before we got all sidetracked with our respective tastes in music, you were asking me if I was married.” Her ever-present smile faded. “No, is the short answer. But I came really close. He broke off the engagement. Two weeks before the wedding.”

Hotch’s heart contracted in sympathy. Haley had insisted on all the bells and whistles when it came to their ceremony. It had taken a little over a year for her to get everything just right. Aaron had been on edge the entire time. But he never would have broken faith with her. After all the planning, she would have been devastated. Now he could understand why Janna wasn’t eager to leap back into the dating pool.

“I’m sorry. Can I ask how long ago it happened?”

“Almost a year.” Her lips quirked up in a crooked, wry approximation of humor. “I’ve been told my heart takes longer to heal than most.” She shrugged. “Can’t help it.”

Hotch was surprised at the answering twinge of sorrow inside him. “I’m the same way. So I guess we’re both kind of…damaged.”

She looked him full in the eyes and her real smile re-emerged. “No. We’re just in the healing process, that’s all. And we’re smart enough to know it. Besides…” A giggle lilted through her words. “…you’re not damaged, remember?…You’re pretty!” Her unfettered laughter rang out, erasing the gravity of the discussion and returning it to one that might touch on sadness, but ultimately felt good.

 

xxxxxxx

 

The day wore on. Children appeared for after-school play. Hotch tracked them with wistful eyes.

“You’re a father, aren’t you…” The look Janna gave him was almost apologetic. _Sorry for noticing the sadness inside you…_

“Yes. A son. I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like.”

And then she surprised him by not asking the obvious; the ‘how old,’ ‘what grade,’ ‘what’s his name’ questions.

“What do you want most for your son? In life?”

It was a serious question that deserved consideration. Hotch gave it its due, gazing at all the young lives dashing past. Wishing Jack were among them. Amazed at how the child had filled his soul with a love he’d never imagined possible.

“Passion. I want him to have a passion in his life. I hope it brings him joy, but even if it doesn’t, I don’t want him to live like he’s distanced from everything. Like he’s made of cardboard when everyone else is made of living matter.”

“Do you feel that way?”

“Sometimes.”

She slipped her hand in his.

Janna had gone for the heart of the matter, the heart of parenthood.

And in doing so had touched Hotch’s.


	8. Pixies & Tigers & Gowns...Oh My!

By the time Hotch returned home, it was evening.

His phone was loaded with nosy inquiries from Rossi. Aaron worked his way through them, smiling at his friend’s channeling of what he suspected was a pre-pubescent girl. When he got to the last one, sent mere minutes earlier, he laughed aloud.

“So!...Did’ja kiss her? Huh? Did’ja?”

Still chuckling, Hotch returned the call. He couldn’t keep the merriment out of his voice. “What are you, Dave? Twelve? Thirteen at most?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Aaron. Did’ja kiss her? Huh?”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone if I had, but…no. I did not kiss her.”

On the other side of the connection Rossi was secretly hugging himself. Kiss or not, Hotch sounded more relaxed and happy than he’d been in years. The older man’s voice dropped its manic impersonation, adopting instead his usual warm tone where this shy, subdued, surrogate son was concerned. “Will it break your Southern Gentleman’s Code to tell me what you two did? How you spent the day?”

“Mostly we talked. And walked. And had coffee and later grabbed a sandwich. That’s about it.”

“But you had a good time.” It was a statement; Rossi could tell by the lilt in Hotch’s voice that he’d enjoyed himself immensely. “Will you see her again?”

“Yeah. I think so. Unless she was just being nice…” The slight tremor in the Unit Chief’s voice springing from lack of confidence tugged at Dave’s heart.

“C’mon now, Aaron. What I’m hearing is you guys did a lot more than just meet for a cup of coffee. If she didn’t want to spend time with you, she would’ve called it quits half an hour in. And she didn’t. So don’t do that to yourself. There’re plenty of people in the world who’ll tear you down. Don’t be one of them.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Rossi’s voice turned pompous and throaty. “Do or do not…there is no ‘try.’…or something to that effect.”

“Dave, did you just try to quote something from ‘Star Wars’?”

“Yes. Yes I did. And even if I got it wrong, even if it’s from a glorified muppet…it’s a wise sentiment.” He returned to the weird, pseudo-Yoda imitation. “Obey you must.”

“Alright. I’m hanging up. Nerd.”

“May the Force be wi…”

Hotch hung up on the puppet-voice mid blessing. _He’s been hanging around Reid too much._

With a contented sigh, the Unit Chief wandered into his kitchen. The first thing that caught his eye when he flipped the light switch was the honeydew melon…his stabbing victim of that morning. He went to it and patted it with his good hand.

_You know what, buddy? I think I’ll let you live out your days and die a natural death. It’s my way of saying ‘thanks’ for leading me to a new friend._

He tried calling Jack, but Haley said their son was enjoying his first view of the Pacific Ocean and wasn’t available. It put a damper on Hotch’s good spirits, but a text from Janna revived him.

‘I had fun today. I’ve been wishing for someone like you. Wanna see where I work tomorrow or are you busy?’

Aaron responded that he’d be very interested to learn more about what she does. Later, he fell asleep smiling despite the aches in his arm and hip.

He was still smiling when he woke up the next morning.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch did what he considered the gentlemanly thing. Despite Rossi’s admonition about doubting himself, he called Janna and gave her a chance to back out.

“If you have to work isn’t having a tourist hanging around gonna slow you down?”

“Not at all. How about you come by around eleven and, if you want, we can have lunch after I give you the tour?”

Hotch’s stomach and heart did a happy, little flip. “You’re sure? I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Look, Aaron, if you don’t want to come just say so, but don’t think for a minute that I’d ask you if I didn’t want to show off something I’m pretty proud of. _Do_ you want to beg off?”

“No. No, not at all. I just wanted to be sure…you know?”

On the other end of the line, Janna’s smile faded. _I **do** know. Poor thing. Whoever his wife was, she must have burned him to the bone._ Aloud, she continued to assure Hotch that he wasn’t intruding. “I get it. We’re just getting to know each other, so you’re still giving me opportunities to escape. Thing is, I asked you. I don’t do that unless I mean it. Besides…” Her voice lowered. “…my assistants don’t believe I spent yesterday wandering around with a man. I want to see their faces when you walk in.”

His uncertainty gave way to a thrill of anticipation. _Someone was talking about me! In a good way!_

“I’ll be there at eleven.”

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch arrived at the address Janna had given him right on time.

From the outside, the building housing Bertrand Styling was an unprepossessing brick façade boasting wide, lead-paned windows and a cheerful, lemony door flanked by potted plants that had been trimmed and shaped into tall spirals.

He decided it looked elegant, but welcoming.

Inside he found Janna’s company on the directory and took an elevator up to the ninth floor. The doors slid open to reveal controlled chaos. Hotch couldn’t help smiling at the sight. His profiler’s eyes swept the large, well-lit room from side to side.

There were mirrors, small pedestals before some. Aaron imagined customers perching atop them, twirling like music-box ballerinas as they admired themselves.

There were racks of clothing; some with names attached that he assumed belonged to clients who would be trying on the wealth of offerings Janna provided.

Some had the disappointing sign ‘Returns.’ These were shoved off to the side; out of the way of the real action. He felt a little sorry for them. _Those are the losers, the wallflowers that no one wanted._ But even as he watched, a young man in astonishingly tight jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with a sequined tiger swooped by, grabbing a flowing, pink gown from the racks of rejects.

“Cheril-with-an-i will _adore_ this! I just know it!” He swept past Hotch and paused, looking him up and down with a quizzical half-smile. “Ohhhh, Jaaaaannaaaa! The FBI is here!”

Aaron blinked and then retreated behind his stoic expression. _This must be one of her assistants._ He shook his head at his own stereotypical profiling. _I thought they’d be women. Live and learn._

A woman on the opposite side of the room, with the look of a pixie about her, glanced up from her sewing machine at the sing-song announcement. She and the man exchanged significant looks and giggles.

Hotch struggled to attain new levels of stoicism.

“Oh, he _is_ cute.” Aaron heard the not-so-quiet observation. He just wished the woman had said it instead of the man. Especially when two matronly ladies who were seated in plush chairs near one of the mirror-and-pedestal installments craned their necks around to see who was under discussion.

He was thinking of telling someone…anyone…that he’d wait down in the lobby when drapes off to one side parted and Janna’s head popped out of the opening. “Aaron! Hi!” She beamed him a joyous smile that made him determined to withstand any unwelcome attention.

“I just need a minute to finish up in here…” She tilted her head toward the space behind the curtains. “…and then I’ll be with you.” Her voice became sharper as she focused on Sequin Tiger Man and Pixie Woman. “You two be nice. Don’t tease him. And hands off, Kevin. He’s not your type.”

Pixie spoke up. “He’s not ‘Kevin’ this week, Jan. He’s trying out ‘Chadwick.’”

Janna gave a deep sigh. Shaking her head, she disappeared back into the curtained area.

Hotch looked from Tiger to Pixie.

He had a feeling he was about to step through one of the mirrors into a whole, new world.

 


	9. The World of Style

Hotch continued doing a visual exploration of Janna’s workspace.

He wasn’t comfortable enough to move into it without an escort yet. The assistants, Pixie and Sequin Tiger, were sending him curious glances that were a bit too openly admiring in the case of the name-shifting Tiger. Hotch realized the older ladies, who were obviously customers, were also subjecting him to critical inspection.

He caught their concerned looks and heard ‘FBI’ emerge from their whispered exchanges. _Probably think I’m here on official business. Probably wondering what their professional stylist is involved in that warrants federal interest. Wonder what would have happened if I’d worn a suit…and had my gun…_

Before his musings could go completely off track with visions of cuffing Janna and reading her her Miranda rights purely for the edification and entertainment of her patrons, the curtains on the private alcove swooshed aside. Janna emerged with a satisfied look and a woman who must be part of the group that included the matrons, judging by their appreciative exclamations at the lady’s appearance.

Hotch had to admit, she looked good. Eager to learn just what a stylist does, he studied the woman as she went to her friends. Stepping up on the low pedestal, she took in her reflection as a smile did a slow spread across her lips.

The woman was a bit stout, a bit short; all in all a comfortable, pleasant, middle-aged specimen. But Janna had clothed her in a figure-skimming dress that flattered her. The fabric was a print in cheerful colors the sight of which made Hotch’s lips twitch upward. The accessories didn’t take center stage. Hotch wouldn’t really have noticed them on their own except that he was making an effort to understand the elements of Janna’s work. He watched her say a few soft words to her clients.

She must have excused herself, because she came toward him, face alight with pleasure at seeing him. _Me! She’s happy to see me!_ Hotch’s grin expanded of its own volition, too.

“Hi.” She stood beside him, turning so she could view her workshop from the same vantage point as he.

“Hi.” He nodded toward the lady who was still preening before the mirror. “So that’s what you do. She looks nice.”

Janna chuckled. “It takes a lot more effort than you’d think. The print, the cut, the necklace, the earrings, the shoes, the purse…they all have to work together without any one element taking too much focus. I’m a firm believer in the words of Coco Chanel: ‘Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman.’” She watched her client accepting accolades from her entourage. “That’s Mrs. Henderson. She has a wedding to attend, and although the bride will be the center of attention, Mrs. Henderson will be appropriate, but will also garner her share of compliments. She’ll have a wonderful time, and partly because she’ll know she looks fabulous.”

“Ahhhh. I see. You sell confidence.”

“In part. It can make all the difference in the world, you know.”

Hotch bent his neck, looking down at the kindness and warmth in her eyes…and wondered if there was a double meaning; a message for him as well.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Janna was in danger of getting lost in the brown depths of Aaron’s eyes. And she absolutely did _not_ want to get lost in this man.

_First of all, I don’t know him that well. Second of all, I’m not ready. Third of all…he’s not ready either! He’d be so much fun to play with, but I’d be trading a lifetime of friendship for a few hours of flesh. Not worth it. And he’s been hurt. I can tell. I have a feeling that I’m a test case for him. If I hurt him, too, he’ll pull back into his shell and maybe never come out again._

She yanked her eyes away from him with a tiny sigh of regret, replacing it with a mischievous smile. “Come meet my crew. They’re…different. And they’ve been talking about you since I told them you exist and we spent yesterday together.”

Hotch’s swallow was audible. He was used to the way unsubs looked at him with raw hate; to the way colleagues looked at him with either respect or jealousy. But he wasn’t used to the kind of looks he was getting from Pixie and Sequin Tiger. It was the look of people who were hungry. Hungry for gossip. Hungry to know all your secrets right away. Hungry to pull you into their world. It wasn’t unkind or really threatening. It was just unsettling. And, as Janna had said when describing her coworkers…it was _different_.

_Man up, Hotchner. So far in this relationship you’ve been the passive one. Make up your mind. Either run or step in and hold your own._

Hotch stepped in, albeit with Janna at his side, holding onto his good arm as though she were escorting him to meet her family. In a way…she was.

“Aaron Hotchner, this is Alice Duffy.” She gestured toward the pixyish woman. “She’s my right hand for alterations. And she’s wonderful at dealing with the clients if I can’t be here.”

Hotch nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

The woman raised a pert little nose at him, giving him an open inspection up close. “Likewise. So you guys are dating? Janna won’t admit it.”

Aaron blinked, taken aback at such directness from a stranger when it came to personal matters. “I…uh…”

Janna’s aggravated sigh cut him off. Rescued him, actually. “I told you guys before, and I’m not going to keep repeating myself, so get it straight. For the last time, Aaron and I are _friends_. We’re neither of us in the market for anything else. Not right now anyway.”

“Fine. Just checking.” Alice shrugged one shoulder. Before she could pursue any other line of interrogation, Janna pulled Hotch around to present him to the Sequin Tiger.

“And this is…was…Kevin Radcliffe. Today his name is…?”

The Tiger stepped forward, extending a hand, belatedly noticing that Hotch couldn’t shake with his right arm strapped into a sling. “You can call me Chadwick. So…” He retracted his hand, opting instead to cross his arms and subject Hotch to an even more detailed assessment than Pixie Alice had given. “…you’re really in the FBI?” He sidled a little closer. “Show me your gun and I’ll believe you. But if you’re not, then…honey, you should know that looking the way you do, you don’t need no lame-ass pickup line like that!”

At last, Hotch’s grin came out of hiding. These people were too outrageous to be real. This _had_ to be an act put on for his benefit. _Probably they’re protecting their boss, just the way my team protects me…and thinks I’m unaware of it._ “Hello, Chadwick. I _am_ an FBI agent, so it’s not a pickup line. And no, I will never show you my gun. Unless you step out of line and it becomes officially expedient. Got it?”

The erstwhile Chadwick turned a bemused expression to his colleagues. “Well, alright. Baby’s got claws. Janna, you have our permission to befriend the lovely Aaron. But, please, angel, let us play dress-up with him? Just once? Let me take him shopping?”

Janna gave Hotch an apologetic look. “Kevin-by-any-other-name is my head shopper. He seems to have a built-in radar for unique and _sometimes_ even appropriate accessories. But he does love to play dress-up a little too much. Sometimes I think he’s more interested in what _he_ would wear, if he could get away with it, than what the clients want.” She wrinkled her nose at Kevin, adding an element of teasing to what was an honest critique.

Kevin flipped his hands in an I-give-up gesture and went back to a display of handbags he’d been assembling. “Well…if Mr. FBI ever changes his mind, Ms. J., I’d love to see what he looks like in a sari…all shimmery and slinky…mmmmmmm….”

Hotch leaned a little closer into Janna, unconsciously seeking protection from her world…at least until he had a chance to learn more about its denizens. But underneath and through their banter, Hotch picked up currents of genuine affection and respect.

He was glad Janna had people she could rely on surrounding her.

Whether you chased unsubs or fashion trends, it made all the difference in the world.


	10. Lunch

Janna was called away to put some finishing touches on the package that was Mrs. Henderson-going-to-a-wedding.

It left Hotch on his own, stranded in the area of her studio that was farthest from the door…farthest from escape. And closest to the inquisitive Pixie Alice and Tiger Kevin. It was not reassuring that both these inhabitants of the fashion world adopted sly, mischievous grins as soon as Janna’s back was turned.

“So…” Alice had a more demure look than Kevin, but she was clearly the nosier of the two. “…Mr. Aaron. Men who say they’re not looking for anything in the romance department are usually liars. I mean, they don’t want the relationship, but they want the sex.”

“Allie!” Kevin interrupted with a tone that registered way too much outrage for Hotch to take it at face value. “Stop it!” He turned faux-concerned eyes on their visitor. “What my colleague is trying to say in a roundabout way, Mr. Cupcake, is that sometimes people make the mistake of thinking that our little Janna is ripe for the picking, you know what I’m saying?” There was no interval into which Hotch might have inserted an answer. “Fact is, she’s not. And all the pins and needles and other sharp objects you see around here? Well, you do anything to hurt her and every last one will end up in a very delicate, very sensitive part of your anatomy that I’m sure you hold dear.” He rolled his eyes at Alice, muttering under his breath, “I know _I’d_ hold it,…Dear.”

Hotch didn’t want to alienate Janna’s crew. But he didn’t want them to think he could be scared off, or that he was just some sleazy lothario looking for a good time. He abandoned all pretense. If he tried to answer them in the same gaudy, flippant way they were addressing him, it would ring false. It would be like trying to pretend he shared Garcia’s penchant for troll dolls and hair accessories. People who were really into such things could tell fakers from a mile away.

And Hotch wanted to be real. It was the best part of his friendship with Janna.

He pitched his voice low. “Look, I don’t fit in here. I know that. But that doesn’t make me the enemy. What your boss and I do is between us, but she was telling the truth. We’re both kind of damaged. We just like each other’s company. I think we’re good for each other. So, please don’t ruin it.”

The air of fierce, pointed frivolity that had seemed to surround Alice and Kevin did a slow dissipation.

“We don’t want to see her hurt. That’s all.” Kevin stood his ground, but his eyes were averted, picking at a price tag on a beaded clutch.

“You have to understand,” Alice picked up the conversational thread. “She hired us last year; just after she’d had her heart stomped on. She was a mess. We don’t want to see her go through that again.”

“But we don’t want to see her turn into a hermit either,” Kevin tagged on. “It’s just that guys who look like you usually have a long string of stomped-on hearts trailing after them.”

Hotch stared at the two in honest confusion. “Guys who look like…?” He shook his head, clearing it of what he assumed was more witty banter he didn’t quite pick up on. “The only thing I have behind me is a failed marriage. And that’s no one’s business but mine.”

Alice and Kevin exchanged meaningful looks, brows rising. “I believe him.”

“Me, too.” Kevin sighed, turning his back as he resumed primping his handbags. His voice dropped its teasing tone. “Sorry, Aaron. But a girl can’t be too careful these days…”

Hotch was saved from any further verbal sparring by Janna’s gentle hand on his arm. He turned grateful eyes on her. “Are you done? Can I take you to lunch now?”

She nodded, her smile giving Aaron’s approval rating a boost in her colleague’s eyes.

Anyone who could make their all-work-hardly-any-play boss _that_ happy didn’t deserve too much suspicion. A little…but not _too_ much.

 

xxxxxxx

 

“So, what do you think?”

Hotch had taken the lead, bringing Janna to a vintage-style café, the walls of which were covered with old-fashioned vinyl records, and whose staff were costumed in what could best be described as ‘hippie chic.’ He thought she’d appreciate the fashion aspect. He was right.

“I can’t believe I’ve lived in this city for so long and never knew this was here!” She was turning in circles, trying to take in every ounce of 60s kitsch that graced the tables and counters. She fixed Hotch with an appreciative gaze. “How did you find this?”

He preened a little, happy to have pleased her when so far she was the one who seemed to have the corner on quirky, little surprises. “I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit. A coworker mentioned this place. She’s into this kind of thing in a big way.”

“An FBI agent who appreciates tie-dye and go-go boots? Wow.”

“Not really an agent. A tech analyst. And she likes love beads, too.”

“Tech analyst…I don’t even know what that is.” She was still beaming around at the miasma of colors and patterns.

“It’s someone who plays a crucial role. She keeps us integrated with all the data and latest developments that help us solve cases. She’s special. One of a kind. I think you’d like her.”

Janna raised one eyebrow. “And here I thought my world would be a refreshing change for you. Sounds like there’s more to your line of work than the suits and the sad eyes.”

Hotch blinked as they slid into a vintage booth. “I didn’t know that was your first impression of me.”

“You looked sad and hurt and in need of just a little kindness. Like a puppy that wants only a pat to turn into the wonderful companion he could be.” Janna’s smile took any condescension out of the observation.

Hotch gave her a considering look. “I was a little worried about you at first.”

“Why’s that?”

“You were nice to me. The first thing I thought of was a Good Samaritan who might offer help someday to the wrong person. To an unsub.”

“Unsub?” Janna had a feeling there was a lot about Aaron’s professional world that would make her feel as out of place as she was sure he had felt being accosted by Alice and Kevin in her studio.

“Unsub. Unknown Subject. The bad guy…” He could feel the good nature, the animation draining out of his face. “The murderer…rapist…kidnapper…terrorist…” He swallowed. “Just please be careful who you offer your help to, okay?”

She studied him for a moment. “You look sad again. It’s no wonder, with a job like that.”

For a moment Hotch felt a frisson of déjà vu coupled with anxiety. Haley’s disapproval of his work loomed in the background like a ghost. _Maybe I **can’t** have any normal relationships outside the Bureau. Maybe Haley was right to want me out of it?_ But Janna’s next words abolished his doubts.

“Maybe people like me feel free to offer help because people like you are out there making sure the…unsubs…are few and far between.” She gave him her warmest smile yet. “Thanks for that. And you be careful, too.” She picked up a menu and began studying the list of offerings.

“Now…tell me more about your vintage-loving tech analyst…”

Hotch hardly ate a thing, but it was the best lunch he’d had in years.


	11. Friends and Lovers

By the time Janna said she should be getting back to work or Kevin and Alice would phone in a missing person’s report, three hours had passed.

Hotch glanced at his watch as he escorted her out to his car. “So, do you always take long lunches? One of the perks of being your own boss?”

She gave him an arch look. “I usually don’t take lunch at all. I’d call myself a workaholic, except it doesn’t feel like work. It feels like…” Her eyes took on a distant, musing look. “…like I was born at the right time and in the right place.” Her smile beamed. “I love what I do too much to think of it as a job. I could never give it up.”

Hotch felt a pang of longing deep in his chest. It was the way he felt about being a profiler; about getting a call and charging out of the gate like a greyhound with his quarry in sight. The sympathetic ache of agreement eased, replaced by wistfulness. _If Haley had found something like that, I bet she would have understood that giving it up was like cutting out a piece of my heart. Still…maybe I should have…_

“Are you okay?”

Hotch realized he was sitting behind the wheel, staring at nothing. Janna’s concerned look brought him back to his present place and company. “Sorry. Drifted off for a moment.” Mentally, he shook himself like a shaggy dog, throwing off his distractions. “The thing is, I have a couple more days before they’ll let me back in my office, and then I’ll be tied to my desk until I get medical clearance. So, if you can manage a few long lunch breaks, and wouldn’t mind my company, it’d make being barred from fieldwork a lot more palatable.” He gave her his most winsome smile, although he wasn’t aware of its effect. “And I do have a couple of colleagues I’d like you to meet.”

Janna tilted her head, looking at Aaron with a speculative air. “My time is dictated by my customers’ schedules. But I’m betting that if I set everything up beforehand, Alice and Kevin could handle whatever comes up. In fact...if I told them the reason for my playing hooky was _you_ …” Her grin had an impish quirk to it. “I bet they’d kick me out and lock the door behind me.”

“Yeah? That’s not the feeling I got.”

“They liked you, Aaron. I could tell.” Settling herself, Janna buckled her seatbelt. “But _my_ opinion’s the only one that matters. I haven’t had a decent, male friend for years. I’d almost forgotten how much fun that can be. What about you? Any female friends?”

Hotch didn’t have to give it any thought. “No. None. I enjoy the time I spend with my female teammates, but you have to understand…I was married…and, uh…”

“And your wife wouldn’t tolerate friendships?”

He looked slightly abashed. “It never came up. I just never…” He shrugged, feeling awkward, as though there had been something wrong with how he’d conducted himself in his marriage. _And maybe there was. I don’t really know any successful long-term couples. Maybe they don’t exist._ But Janna was talking to him and he was missing it… “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said you sound kind of lonely. And that’s not a pick-up line. Hmm.” She gave a speculative, little grunt and fell silent.

“What?” Hotch swallowed. “Did I do something wrong? Say something…?”

“No. No, I was just thinking.”

“What?”

“It’s really none of my business.”

“What?” Aaron didn’t want to leave whatever train of thought they were pursuing. He had a feeling there was something to be learned here. “Tell me. Please.”

She took a deep breath and turned slightly in her seat, the better to face him. “Okay. But I want to preface what I’m about to ask with a disclaimer: your marriage is none of my business. So no matter how curious I might be, you don’t have to discuss it if you’re not ready.”

“Now you’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry. It’s just…” She hesitated, then got the words out in a rush. “…were you and your ex-wife friends before you married?”

It wasn’t the question Hotch had expected. He’d thought it would be about whether or not he’d ever cheated on Haley…if that was why she’d bristled if any other woman so much as glanced his way, forcing him to compensate by abandoning all comradeship of the feminine variety. Once his initial surprise faded, he found the question made him realize that… “No. I never really thought about it, but…no, we weren’t. We did stuff together all the time. But it was because I was in love with her. Huh…” He glanced at his passenger. “Hell of a thing to realize after all this time.”

Janna’s voice was soft. “It is, isn’t it? Same with me. After Ryan left me, one of my bridesmaids-to-be said it was sad to lose a fiancé, but almost worse to lose your best friend. And that’s when I realized…he wasn’t any kind of friend at all. But I loved him.”

Hotch’s voice matched hers in tenor. “I guess maybe we both learned something.”

“Hope so. I’d hate to make the same mistake twice.” She studied his profile as he drove. “Do you still love your…Haley, was it?”

He might have been talking to himself, he sounded so subdued. “Yes. You? And…Ryan?”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Hotch sighed. “What a pair we are.”

They drove the rest of the way back to Janna’s studio in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Aaron was reviewing his entire relationship, searching for any moment when he or Haley might have said the other was a best friend. He couldn’t think of one.

Janna had had more time to explore the lack in her own failed relationship. She spent the time giving Hotch sidelong glances and telling herself to go slow. He had all the ingredients to be a wonderful friend… _and he’s so handsome…and sweet…and lonely…and…_ She sighed and forced her eyes to stay forward. _…and fragile. And it would be the cruelest thing in the world to ruin his trust when he’s just beginning to look past his own hurt._

 

xxxxxxx

 

When Hotch returned home that evening, he was almost glad he didn’t have to go to work in the morning.

For one thing, he’d been more active than was good for his sprained arm. It was aching. His hip was better, but still contributed to a general feeling of malaise when he was unoccupied and on his own with plenty of time to dwell on pain.

He put himself through the unaccustomed activity of running a hot bath; something he never got the chance to enjoy during his normally hectic schedule. Reclining in the steaming water, he let his muscles relax, and found his mind following suit.

He couldn’t believe he’d never realized the lack of simple friendship in his and Haley’s union. It explained some things, but raised additional questions, too. _Rossi’s got three divorces under his belt. Was he friends with any of his wives? Does it really make a difference? Seems like it should, but…_ He shrugged mentally. _Maybe this is one of those chicken-or-the-egg things. Does friendship guarantee a successful marriage, or does adding sex and romance render friendship ineffectual?_

He sighed. Janna was attractive. If he let his mind wander in that direction, he had to admit he’d wondered what it would be like to kiss her. _But I’m not ready. I know it. So does she. And I need a friend. Don’t ruin this, Hotchner._

By the time he emerged from his bath, wrinkled and prune-ish, Hotch had decided he and Janna could benefit from a day apart. He needed to rest his arm, and he wanted to touch bases with Rossi.

But he fell asleep smiling a few hours later, running his and Janna’s lunch date over and over, and making plans to call her the next day. Because later in the week he wanted her to meet Dave and after that, Garcia.

His last thought before sleep took him, was that he’d never felt like introducing Haley to any of his team. She’d wanted to show off Jack when he was born, but other than that, Hotch had never wanted his ex-wife to mingle with his work-family.

After consideration, he wasn’t sure if that had been his call…or Haley’s.


	12. A Date with Dave

Hotch was roused from a light, contented doze by his phone’s demand for attention.

Reaching for it, he winced, and realized two things. First, he’d definitely been ignoring the fact that his injured arm needed some downtime. Second, he hadn’t slept this late or this well since Haley and Jack’s departure.

It almost made him feel guilty. But there wasn’t time for such self-involved introspection. Rossi was on the line.

“Morning, Dave. And if you ask me if I kissed anyone, I’m hanging up.”

A snort that managed to sound dignified and martyred at once came back at Hotch. “Well, that answers every question I had. Aaron, men who _have_ done some kissing are rarely loathe to disclose the activity.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know. That gentlemanly Southern upbringing.” Rossi’s voice descended into gangsta territory. “Stick wit’ me, kid. I’ll teach ya da ropes.”

Turning his face into his pillow, Hotch groaned. “Dave, your ropes would end up being nooses for me. I’ll pass.”

Rossi took mercy on his friend, dropping the banter from his tone. “Seriously, how are you feeling? Do you need anything? Are you taking it easy?”

“I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

“And that’s about as uninformative a response as possible. It’s that Southern gentleman again. So polite. So insular. Determined not to trouble the world with your personal angst…”

“Jeeez, Dave! I don’t have angst. I have a sprained arm and a bruised hip. No big deal.”

Rossi did one of his maneuvers designed to surprise the truth out of Hotch; he switched gears mid-stream. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day? Anything special?”

“Uh…no…I…I thought I better stay in today. Rest.”

“Hmmmm…” Every profiler’s sense attuned to the Unit Chief’s frequency thanks to long acquaintance and honed professional skills, Dave sighed. “So you haven’t been taking care of yourself and now you’re sore enough to be concerned. In addition, inside of three hours you’ll have exhausted all your recreational resources and you’ll lie around moping for the rest of the day. Not good. Not good at all.”

“I…I’m not…” Hotch’s objection trailed off. Rossi was right. It didn’t do any good to deny it. Inasmuch as he’d enjoyed his lunch with Janna, some of the things they’d discussed were somber. Aaron was self-aware enough to know at some point his leisure time would descend into the realm of brooding over his failed marriage. Apparently, Rossi knew it, too.

“Dave? Were you friends with any of your wives?”

On the other end of the line, the older man’s heart ached at the note of wistful longing in Hotch’s voice. His own was gentle when he replied; a verbal attempt to bandage the wounds that clung to Aaron, following him like his shadow. “More or less. Toward the end, a _lot_ less. Being friends doesn’t guarantee marital bliss. It helps…a _lot_ …but even the best of friends can grow apart, Aaron.”

“So you don’t think it makes a difference in the end?”

“It makes a difference. But people change. You stand a better chance of weathering the inevitable storms if you’re friends to begin with, but when the passage of time sees you growing apart, you can like each other from here to eternity…but it won’t necessarily mean the marriage will last forever.”

Rossi lowered his voice. Hotch got the impression he was trying not to be overheard. “The end of a marriage is a highly individual thing, Aaron. They’re like fingerprints. Everyone has a general idea of what they’re supposed to look like, but no two are the same. If you’re trying to figure out what went wrong with you and Haley, you can spend the rest of your life analyzing. In the end, it won’t help you put the pieces back together. The best you can do in a situation like that is try to take an honest look at yourself. Figure out what _you_ want to do differently, if there’s a next time, and be honest about it with any future potential partners. Don’t look back too much. It prevents you from seeing what’s ahead.”

Rossi sighed. “And now I’ve probably given you enough material to spend the rest of your leave buried in your own head…mulling…brooding…contemplating…ruminating…pondering…”

“What are you doing? Reading from a thesaurus? Knock it off.”

Dave’s chuckle was warm. “What I’m trying to do is tell you that it’s my personal, and highly valued, opinion that you could use your time off to rest your limbs and your heart. You’ve found a new friend. Immerse yourself in the process of getting to know her. I’m gonna be really honest with you here, Aaron…you need to know more women. So far, Haley’s the one who’s written the book for you on social coexistence with the opposite sex. Use this time to look farther afield. Having women in your life can actually be more fun than obligation. I don’t think you know that yet.”

“I’m not like you. I can’t…can’t…”

“I know. It’s alright. Just please do what feels fun for _you_ for a change. Not every female will want to cage you and pull your reins in.”

Hotch huffed out a small puff of air. “That’s funny. Janna said something along those lines. A song from the 60s. Said something about not being ready to have the reins pulled in.”

A few beats of silence fell as Rossi closed his eyes and sent up silent thanks to whatever power kept track of beleaguered hearts. _Good. She’s not out to land a husband. At least so she says._ “Your friend sounds nice. I’d like to meet her someday.”

“You busy tomorrow? If a case doesn’t come in, you wanna meet us for a drink?”

Out of sight, Dave’s brows rose in appreciative surprise. _Either he wants my opinion, or he really is comfortable enough in this new friendship to bring the girl into the fringes of his work-life. Something Haley played at, but never did convincingly._ “I’d like that. Let’s plan on it unless something comes up.”

Rossi had said that people change. It was inevitable. At the moment he was willing to concede that Hotch might be undergoing some changes of his own.

It was about time.

 

xxxxxxx

 

“She’s smiling a lot more. Have you noticed?” Alice raised her pert nose at her co-worker, keeping her voice low so her employer wouldn’t hear she was the subject of workplace gossip.

“Baby’s gettin’ some sugar’s my guess.” Kevin had dropped ‘Chadwick’ after a few hours. He was currently perusing online white pages for something catchy and more appropriate than his given name. Something that would go with the glittery peacock appliqued onto his t-shirt _du jour_.

“I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”

Kevin looked up from his monitor, sudden lascivious hope twinkling in his eye. “You think there’s any chance pretty Aaron bats for the pink team?”

Alice made a rude noise wholly at odds with her elfin appearance. “Not on your life.” She emitted a wistful sigh. “But you’re right: he _is_ pretty.”

The duo turned as one, watching their boss as she approached, phone in hand…an unaccustomed spring in her step. Janna stopped in front of Alice’s sewing machine, offering a tentative smile.

“Alice, would you be able to take the Grover appointment tomorrow evening?” The Grovers were twins who insisted on dressing alike, despite being well into their middle years. They were socialites who demanded evening meetings where they would spend hours wafting about in whatever Janna and her crew had assembled for them. The stylist hurried to plead her case. “I wouldn’t normally ask, but…well…” She wasn’t used to having a social life. It felt strange to use one as a reason to ditch work she’d normally thrive on.

“Honey…” Kevin stepped in. “…does this have anything to do with Adorable Aaron?...your little FBI boy-toy?”

Janna responded with an aggrieved sigh. “If you can’t do it, Alice, I’ll understand.”

The Pixie beamed her widest smile. “If it’ll usher you into Aaron’s company, I’ll stay here all tomorrow night. No problem.”

“He’s just a _friend_ …” Janna’s qualification sounded somewhat weak.

Because she _did_ think Hotch was adorable. And when he proposed meeting for a drink so he could introduce her to his best friend, she felt as though she’d been asked to meet his parents.

It made her a little bit nervous.

She didn’t know that it made Aaron nervous, too.

But Rossi was looking forward to it more than he could say.

 


	13. The Wine Game

“This is nice. I think I’ll keep it in mind if I need a meeting place for clients on this side of town.”

Janna craned her neck around, taking in the richly carved woodwork and the flattering, amber lighting of the watering hole Aaron had chosen for her introduction to his best friend. “What’s it called again?”

Hotch winced. “Power Play. The atmosphere’s a lot more subtle than the name. And they do have a really fine wine list…. Or anything else you might like to order,” he hastened to add. Alcohol hadn’t figured into any of his and Janna’s encounters so far. He hadn’t known if she was a teetotaler or not. When he’d proposed meeting Rossi for a drink after work, all his social antennae had been up and pointed her way, trying to pick up clues as to whether he was stumbling off in the wrong direction. He still wasn’t sure, but her obvious appreciation of his choice of bar made him feel hopeful the entire evening would play out enjoyably.

They were seated at a table that managed to feel private thanks to the careful lighting that bathed each station in a mellow glow, while managing to preserve the surrounding shadows. A waiter hovered, asking for their order. Ever the gentleman, Hotch gave his full attention to his companion, listening to see what her preferred drink might be. His brows rose when she asked if they might have a minute. Nodding, the waiter melted into the shadowed interior.

Hotch’s eyes were wide and unguarded. _Did I pick the wrong kind of place? Is she going to ask if we could go somewhere else? But she seems to like the décor, and she would have said something before we were seated, wouldn’t she? Pay attention, Hotchner! She’s talking to you!_

Janna’s smile was a little sheepish, but he saw no sign of censure in it. “I’m only telling you this because you mentioned their wine list, Aaron. But…” She hesitated, giving him a look that made him think she was about to confess something.

“What? Is something wrong? Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No! No…this is lovely. It’s just…it’s something I don’t get to do often and it’s kind of old-fashioned, but I thought you might be the type to play along if a friend asked…” She chewed her lip for a moment, then plunged ahead, apparently coming to the decision that Hotch _was_ the type she’d hoped. “I love it when the man orders a bottle of wine and then he and the waiter go through that whole charade of sniffing the cork and taking a tiny sip like a professional taster before okaying it to be served to the woman. There’s just something so…so…”

“Romantically sexist?” Rossi’s voice preceded him as he emerged from the shadows to stand by Hotch’s chair.

Half-rising, Aaron performed the introductions. “David Rossi, I’d like you to meet Janna Bertrand.”

Rossi’s hand on his shoulder pushed Hotch back down. His practiced eyes scanned the woman he’d heard so much about, but was still leery of when it came to entrusting her with Aaron’s battered, somewhat timid heart. “Ms. Bertrand. A pleasure to meet someone who enjoys the niceties of a bygone era.”

Janna nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rossi. Call me Janna, okay?”

“And I’m Dave.”

“I guess it _is_ romantically sexist to do the whole wine selection thing, but…” She turned hopeful eyes on Hotch. “I love that kind of thing. It doesn’t really take any power away from the woman, but it makes her…uh, _me_ , at least…feel kind of cherished. Like only the best is good enough. Like the man will stand between his lady fair and mediocrity from the vineyard…I just like it…that’s all.” Her eyes dropped, seeming to find something riveting to study in her lap. _Great impression to make on someone you’re meeting for the first time! Hi, Mr. Rossi…I’m a wimp who likes to play make-believe. Idiot!_

She didn’t see the slow smile spreading across Dave’s face. The wine-game _was_ an old-fashioned, courtly pretension. Something he thought fit Aaron to a tee. _The gentleman he keeps on a leash may have found someone to play with._

Rossi leaned close to Hotch’s ear. “I’m going to visit the men’s room for a few minutes. You’re on, champ. Make it good.” With a final pat on the back, Dave faded into the shadows, leaving Aaron and Janna to play make-believe, and knowing Hotch would enjoy his role as much as his ‘lady fair’ would hers.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Rossi lingered over adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair. When he thought enough time had passed for Hotch to have given a decent performance, he made his way out to the dining area.

Concealed in the ubiquitous shadows, he smiled. The couple each had goblets of a rich, ruby vintage before them. More important, they looked more at ease than when he’d first spied them. And both were sporting unabashedly wide grins.

He took a seat beside Hotch, the better to observe Janna.

A third glass was waiting. Hotch poured from the bottle he’d selected and raised an inquiring brow at the older man. Rossi took an obliging sip and was pleasantly surprised. “Good choice, Aaron. I think your lady is safe from rancid wine as long as she’s in your company.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

“I’m sorry, but I really enjoyed it.” Janna couldn’t help beaming at her male audience. “There aren’t too many guys I’d feel safe doing that with, but you…” She glanced away, giving a delicate shrug with one shoulder.

“Our Aaron is Virginia born and bred. They raise them traditional here.” Rossi studied Janna over the rim of his glass. “I’m guessing you’re a Southern girl, too. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are. But you’re a profiler, so you can probably tell a lot about people when you first meet them. Or Aaron might have told you.”

“He is not the type to offer information too readily. So, this is my profiler’s opinion: you’re a Southern girl based on your appreciation of manners others might find outdated or even offensively condescending. You’re aware of that to the point of being apologetic, so I’m thinking you’ve spent time in places that _don’t_ cater to that kind of chivalry.” He leaned back, appraising her through narrowed lids. “Hotch did tell me you work in fashion, so…I’m guessing…Hollywood?”

Janna blinked. “Are you _sure_ no one told you about me?” Her eyes strayed to Hotch who was sipping his wine, taking immense enjoyment in watching his _new_ friend’s first encounter with his _best_ friend.

“I only told him what you did for a living. Honest.”

“And one thing you can count on from our Hotch…is honesty.” Rossi’s tone was less playful. Janna had a feeling she was being told something important. It was her turn to profile.

“I didn’t know his nickname was Hotch. I like that. It’s nice.” She leaned to the side, forming an impression of Dave’s clothing from tie to polished loafers. “So…Italian-American. Born in the North. The accent is faint, but it’s one I’d place around New York maybe? But…something doesn’t fit.”

Rossi and Hotch exchanged glances, brows raised, wondering what could be tweaking the sensibilities of this fashion maven.

Janna’s eyes flicked between the two men. They settled on Dave with a satisfied glint in their depths. “You’re wearing Armani, Calvin Klein, and Gucci. That’s luxurious for your everyday FBI agent. The suits I see them in around town aren’t designer brands. And Aaron’s your boss, but he doesn’t dress up to your level. So…I’m guessing you have money that comes from someplace other than your career as a government agent.”

She leaned back, still studying Rossi. “But it’s not money you were born into. You’re proud of having done well, you wear your success like a badge, so I’m thinking you’ve earned it with good, old-fashioned, hard work. Which means you don’t _have_ to work. You choose to. And since that choice has landed you in the BAU…” She was surprised to feel her eyes growing misty. “…you have a strong sense of ethics. You want to make the world safer and better. I bet you’re as honest as you say Aaron is. And you’re equally the gentleman he is. Which is part of why you’re friends. Am I close?”

Dave’s steady regard had nothing of levity in it. He raised his glass toward Janna, twisting it to appreciate the fine vintage it contained. “Aaron, I approve your choice.”

Hotch knew his friend wasn’t referring to the wine.


	14. Some Pleasant Conversation

The date had been for drinks, not dinner.

But as time wore on, and the company proved pleasant enough to make all three loath to leave, Hotch signaled the waiter. Soon a communal platter of appetizers took up most of the tabletop. It was primarily finger-food…nachos and chicken wings figured prominently…the kind of snacks that made people grin at their own as well as their friends’ occasional clumsiness, and relax before the great equalizer of eating with ones’ hands.

The conversation was light and convivial.

“So what made you think I spent time in Hollywood rather than…say, oh…Paris? Or New York?” Jenna managed the question as she tried to convey a tortilla chip dripping with cheese to her mouth without leaving a trail. She failed. “Those places are much less traditional than the South when it comes to old-fashioned manners and posturing. Why did Hollywood stand out?”

One side of Rossi’s mouth quirked upward, making him look sly. “All Aaron told me was that you were a stylist, and you had your own business that is doing quite well. He was impressed.”

Janna shot Hotch a pleased look, basking in his praise. It was all the more appreciated for having been told to a man she knew he held in high regard. Hotch did his own little bit of basking under the warmth of her eyes.

“In order to have built a viable business…” Rossi continued. “…in a line of work I understand to be incredibly competitive, you would need to establish a reputation and build from there. There are no overnight successes when it comes to that kind of enterprise.”

He discarded a chicken bone and leaned back, narrowing his eyes at Janna. “You had to spend at least ten to fifteen years working hard to make your company a going concern. So, I subtracted that from my guess at your age, and I come up with a young lady who is in her early twenties.” His smile grew a trifle more smug. “And what young lady who worships fashion and stardom can resist the pull of the city that boasts more red carpet glamour than any other on earth?” He lifted his glass and sipped. “Hollywood. Simple process of elimination. It’s also one of the harshest climates for the creative soul. You’re a nice person. You opted to remain so. You returned to your home state.”

Janna’s eyes misted yet again. “That’s one of the nicest excuses for a failure I’ve ever heard.”

“You didn’t fail.” Hotch jumped in, sounding firm and decisive. “Dave, you should see her work. She can make ordinary people look elegant and confident.” He addressed the stylist directly. “Everything you’ve done, every experience, good or bad, feeds into that kind of artistic perception.” His eyes were grave with sincerity. “You did _not_ fail.”

Janna leaned back in her chair. Giving a deep sigh, she surveyed the man before her. “Where were you when I was in California? If anyone had been that completely on my side, I might have stuck it out longer. Maybe I would have succeeded eventually…maybe…”

Rossi gave Hotch a disparaging glance before returning his attention to Janna. “When you were in California, this one was still wet behind the ears…following along with one hand tied to my apron strings…needing to be tucked in at night…needing to be read a bedtime story…”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Hotch shook his head, feigning disgust at the lengths to which Dave would go to tease him. In truth, he enjoyed the affectionate ribbing. He focused on Janna. “I’m glad you didn’t stay in Hollywood. There wouldn’t have been anyone to teach me about ripe honeydews.” He gave a deep sigh. “I’d be lost. Probably still at the market, digging my way through a mountain of melons…unable to figure it out…starving…”

“You are both incorrigible.” It was Janna’s turn to shake her head, noting the easy repartee between the two men. “You must have been through a lot together.”

“Yes. We have.” Rossi’s expression was serious, his eyes no longer glinting with mischief. “We’ve known each other a long time. I’ve watched him grow and sometimes I like to think I had something to do with how he turned out.” He looked at Hotch balancing an overfull, tottering tower of nacho, and gave a small, fond sigh. “If it weren’t for his table manners, I’d take him out and show him off more often.”

Janna’s laughter almost choked her in the middle of a sip of wine. Uncomfortable as the focus of everyone’s attention, alarmed by his new lady-friend’s coughing, Hotch lost control of his nacho, watching it wobble and do a slow-motion spill. Despite his attempt to move it back over the table, a good portion of it toppled into his lap.

Rossi found it hilarious.

“Dave! Damn it! It’s not funny!” Aaron scraped refried beans, cheese and guacamole onto his napkin. “You heard her. I don’t have the clothing allowance you do! Janna, are you okay?” When her response was to stop choking in favor of covering explosive giggling with her napkin, Hotch moved on. “Excuse me…” Grumbling at the unsightly amalgamation of foodstuffs on his crotch, the Unit Chief of the BAU headed for the men’s room.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Janna and Dave were breathless by the time they quieted.

“You know he’s probably half-naked in the bathroom trying to rinse beans and grease out of his pants in the sink,” Rossi ventured.

“I didn’t mean to laugh at him, but…” Janna dissolved into giggles again. Dave kept her company.

The second time they recovered, both wiped tears of mirth from their eyes. Rossi took a calming breath before attempting to speak.

“It’s not often I can laugh where Aaron’s concerned.” The gravity of his expression communicated itself to Janna.

“I get that. There’s something…I don’t know…sad, I guess, about him. Why is that? I mean I know he’s divorced and that hurt him, but lots of people get divorced. It’s more than that. Dave, what am I sensing?”

Rossi’s expression blanked again. The laugh lines and crinkles of good humor smoothing away. He took a deep breath and released it with slow control. “He’s very private. Not many are allowed to breach the walls he’s erected to protect himself. I hope you know you’re one of the few.”

“I felt that. It’s strange, though.” She glanced around to make sure Aaron wasn’t on his way back. “There’s something so gentle and sweet and defenseless about him. And, yes, I know that’s an odd thing to say about a career FBI agent, but it’s true! You must feel it, too. You’re his best friend.”

“And…to paraphrase Shakespeare… ‘‘tis an honor I dreamt not of’…”

“‘Romeo and Juliet’, right?”

“Yes. And I’m pleased your education included the classics and not just things that are fashion forward.” Rossi smiled. He was glad that this woman had managed to see into Hotch’s core enough to know how soft and kind it was. He leaned forward over the table; Janna leaned in as well, coming close for what both knew would be a private conversation.

“What happened to him? I promise I won’t judge him, if it’s anything, well…you know…his fault.”

Rossi shook his head. “The only thing that you can fault that boy for is an innocence I haven’t quite figured out to this day.” He lowered his brows, aiming for a somber, bordering-on-ferocious look. “There is a goodness in him that compels him to battle the evil forces in the world who would rape and torture and kill at will. But every blow he strikes to make others safer, there’s a counter-strike straight into his soul.”

Dave’s eyes cut to the side, picking up movement in the shadows that was likely Aaron returning. “I’ve only met you this once, young lady. There are things I know and things I suspect about Aaron that I keep to myself. You have to earn the right to know them. But that man is a prize worth the effort.”

“I think I already know that.”

Janna smiled as Aaron returned to his seat, but there was a touch of sorrow about it.

Just like Hotch.


	15. Self-Doubts

Hotch seated himself, knowing full well that he’d been the subject of conversation in his absence.

“So…what are we talking about?” He expected a socially-permissible subterfuge that would deny gossip centering around him. Dave always had a way of pushing the boundaries, though.

“We were talking about you. How’re your pants?”

“Wet.” Hotch glowered. “I propose a change of subject.”

“A change of pants would be better.” Rossi was having too much fun.

Janna mastered her giggle-impulse enough to show some genuine concern. “Aaron, if you’re uncomfortable, we can call it an evening…let you go home and get into some dry clothes.”

“Yeah, don’t wanna get any chafing down there. Believe you me.” Dave craned over, staring into Hotch’s lap with a smug look.

“Okay, you guys. Enough about my pants. I’ll survive.”

“Well, in that case, children…” Rossi drained the last of his wine. “I think I’ve had enough entertainment, courtesy of Aaron’s pants, for one night. Janna, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we see each other again. Hotch, take care of the arm. If you need anything, call.” He rose, popping a last olive from the appetizer tray into his mouth. “If you’re into clothing and accessories, you should have Aaron introduce you to our tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. She has a style all her own.”

He gave Hotch a sly look as he edged away. “Garcia loves fantasy, too. She imagines all kinds of romantic adventures for her Unit Chief. Well, for everyone, if I’m being honest… But I know she’d enjoy meeting a real, live resident of the fashion world. So, once again, it was nice to meet you, Janna. You two enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“I’m glad I met you, too, Dave. Goodnight.”

“Night, Dave.” Hotch watched his friend exit to the street. He’d had a good time introducing him to Janna, but he was surprised to find himself relaxing more now they were alone. _I didn’t realize how important his opinion is to me._ Inwardly, he smiled. _Imagine using much-married and much-divorced Dave as a sounding board for relationships with women._ He shook his head.

Janna was observing what were clearly outer manifestations of inner dialogue. _I wonder if they have some kind of secret language between them…a code for ‘She’s a loser. Dump her’? Dave seemed really nice, but he’s protective. And from what he said there’s a lot to learn about Aaron._ She frowned. _But I’m not auditioning to be his wife! Standards are different for friends. Uh-oh…I wonder if I failed some friendship test!?_ Brows knitting, she sipped at her wine.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hotch’s question jolted Janna out of her reverie.

“I…uh…I…” She puffed out a resigned breath and decided her friendship with Aaron was too new to let it run off the tracks into some kind of tangled knot of supposition and assumption. “I was wondering what Dave _really_ thought of me….And why.”

“He said he liked meeting you.”

“Yeah, but he might have just been being polite…you know?”

“I know.” Hotch grinned, going fox-faced as he savored the last of his wine. “I could tell he liked you. If _you_ could tell that Kevin and Alice liked _me_ … _I_ can tell Dave liked _you_.”

“Ahhhh. I see. We have to trust each other to translate the native languages of our respective worlds.”

“Exactly.”

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed as each considered the implications of coming from radically different backgrounds and jobs. Janna spoke first.

“Tell me more about Penelope Garcia. Dave seemed amused when he mentioned her. You did, too, the other day.”

Smile wide, Hotch toyed with the remnants on the appetizer platter, having another go at a towering nacho. “She _is_ amusing. And endearing. And brilliant. And unique.”

“ _How_ unique?”

“Hmmmm…” Aaron turned his profiling skills on. “Her uniqueness envelops her. It splashes over and around and onto everyone in her sphere of influence. It shines like a beacon that brings us home case after case. And once we’re back…it makes us smile.” He turned apologetic eyes on Janna. “You have to meet her. Words can’t convey or express.”

Janna’s turn to make thoughtful noises. “Hmmmmm….”

“What?”

“Where would your Penelope fall on a ‘uniqueness’ scale that included my Alice and Kevin? With Alice being a five and Kevin being a ten. ”

That required several minutes’ contemplation, during which Hotch triumphed over another Mount Nacho. He chewed as he thought, comparing the little he’d seen of Janna’s staff with the in-depth knowledge he had of Garcia. At last, he raised his brows at his friend. “I don’t have enough to make a final judgment, but Garcia outdoes Alice by a mile. I’m not sure about Kevin, though.”

Janna nodded. “I think Kevin was putting on a bit of an act for your benefit, by the way. He’s like a peacock. You know…spreads his tail when he thinks a potential mate is in viewing proximity.”

Hotch leaned over, spluttering in his wine glass, coughing into his napkin. At last he looked up with watery eyes. “P-Potential _mate_?”

Janna was all mock innocence. “What? It’s a compliment. He thought you were cute. How’s he supposed to know, if he doesn’t extend an invitation?”

Aaron stared, eyes rimmed with a little too much white. After a few minutes of blinking, he felt compelled to ask this woman who specialized in appearances and the secret language of fashion. “Is…is there something about me that…that…you know…says I’m…I’m…”

She tried hard to keep her laugh impulse at bay, but it was impossible to avoid grinning. Widely. She dug into Kevin’s repertoire of descriptive phrases. “You’re asking if there’s something to indicate you’re...in show biz?...Batting for the pink team?...Light on your loafers?...” The horrified look on Hotch’s face was too tragic for her to continue baiting him. “Awwww…No, Aaron. There is nothing about you that makes people question your sexual orientation. Nothing. I’m kidding.”

He still looked in need of bolstering. Janna realized this type of teasing might not have been in concert with the light, bantering mood of the evening. Something else occurred to her, too. _Oh, no. He’s doubting himself because his wife threw him away, in effect. And here I am making fun of his masculinity. He doesn’t understand that I’d only do that if there was absolutely no question or ambiguity about it. I’m an idiot!_

“Aaron, it was a joke in bad taste. I’m sorry.” _I have to make this right!_ “Kevin teases everyone who sets foot in my studio. Mercilessly. He _does_ think you’re attractive, but so does Alice. And so do I. And no one thought you’d ever return his interest. Not even Kevin.”

Hotch realized he was overreacting and worked to ease the panicked tension from his expression. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

Janna made a disparaging noise. “Okay, my friend, time for a reality check. First, I’ve had more fun with you and laughed more in the last few days than I have in the last entire year. So whoever made you think you’re humorless doesn’t know you well. At least, not in a social setting.” She looked thoughtful. “I don’t suppose there’s much to laugh about in your line of work. If that’s where you’re getting your warped self-image from, you need to look elsewhere; need to balance your perspective.”

She glanced left and right, checking on their privacy. Leaning forward, she confided in a low tone. “As for anyone thinking you’re gay, I bet my entire business and reputation that it’s wishful thinking on the part of men who are attracted to you. The only thing I can say, speaking on behalf of heterosexual womanhood is…” She let her eyes travel over every visible inch of Hotch’s body. Slowly. Languidly. In a way that made his respiration increase… She finally sat back, locking eyes with him. “Wow. Just…wow.” Her smile was a trifle wicked. “You don’t think the only reason I helped you in that grocery store was that you seemed needy, do you?”

Hotch gave her an uncertain look, turning his head slightly so he could regard her out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, Aaron…I almost tipped over my whole shopping cart when you turned toward me. You were _that_ breathtaking. I’m still getting used to it, by the way.”

Hotch’s expression did a slow metamorphosis. The fox-grin returned, reaching his eyes, making them tilt.

Janna smiled back. _Mission accomplished…and lesson learned._


	16. Mystery Lady

Two days later, Penelope Garcia was in a tizzy! A whirlwind! A fog…

She was bemused. Enthralled! Ecstatic!

And feeling as though she’d been challenged in the most delightful way. Although, truth be told, no one had actually thrown down a gauntlet. She just assumed everyone knew trailing such luscious tidbits of gossip before her was tantamount to baiting a line with the juiciest, tastiest morsel in the world.

She minced her way to her techno-lair, tottering atop platform pumps coated with aurora borealis glitter, balancing a tall Starbucks cup oozing whipped cream from its take-out lid. Breathless, she tapped in her security code, muttering under her breath about the eons of time it took for the Bureau’s state-of-the-art measures to recognize and admit her.

Really it was a split second, but Penelope could be excused for her impatience. She’d been given momentous news. Startling, gob-smacking, dizzying news.

Bossman had a new lady friend.

And if Rossi thought he could casually drop that in Garcia’s lap without consequence…well, then he wasn’t half the profiler everyone knew him to be. But his eyes had glinted when he’d mentioned drinks with Hotch and ‘his new friend…of the female persuasion.’ From that moment, Penelope was off and running, the rapid clip-clip of her exotic footwear alerting all and sundry to make way for the Queen of Quixotic.

The techie plumped into her chair, popped the lid off her latte, acquired a whipped cream mustache and set to work. Fingers flying, mere inches separating nose from monitor, Garcia tracked her quarry.

One Janna Bertrand.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch was trying to be good.

After drinks with Dave, he’d dropped Janna off at her studio…she’d been anxious to see how Alice had handled clients in her absence…and had gone straight home himself. He was determined to rest his arm, doing nothing more strenuous than reading and whatever work he could do online without typing too much.

For a day-and-a-half he did very well.

Then he became a pest, lurking online around the BAU…emailing typo-ridden, one-handed messages to Rossi, asking to be kept in the loop on every case and consult. Which is when Dave decided to slap his friend’s ears back by turning Garcia loose on him.

And once Rossi was sure that the tech analyst was well and truly hooked, he stirred the pot a little more.

Phone to ear, he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. “Hello, Aaron. Why don’t you ask Janna if she feels like giving Penelope a tour of her business? Nothing urgent is in the works, so Garcia could take a long lunch. I know she’d love to check your new friend out.” An evil grin tweaked Dave’s lips.

Hotch might be injured, but he wasn’t befuddled. The ears Rossi had meant to slap, pricked forward with alarm. “What?...What did you do, Dave?”

“Nothing. God, you’re so suspicious. Some might even say paranoid.” The self-satisfied purr in the older man’s voice did nothing to alleviate Aaron’s apprehension.

“What did you tell Garcia about Janna!?”

Rossi’s voice was lazy and mellow. “Nothing…Just her name…”

There might as well have been organ chords playing in the descending notes signifying a villainous presence. Hotch recoiled ever so slightly from his phone and the Machiavellian being on the other end. “What _else_ did you tell her?!”

“Nothing…” Rossi drawled. “…Just that she was your new lady friend.”

“Dave!!”

“So if you want to quell any rampant rumors that’ll have plenty of time to take root and grow before your return, I suggest you bring the ladies together and hope that Garcia vets Janna the same way I did.”

“Dave!!”

“Take care of yourself, Aaron. You know I’m always here if you need anything.”

Rossi closed the connection and let his grin go wicked. _That’ll keep the little weasel out of my hair for the rest of the day at least. Might have to come up with something else, though, if he hasn’t learned his lesson…_

 

xxxxxxx

 

Garcia began with a frown, eyes darting over every bit of data she could dredge up on the erstwhile Ms. Bertrand.

But as her whipped cream mustache dissolved and dried to a flaky crust, she looked more puzzled than protective. There were three Janna Bertrands in the Quantico and the greater DC areas.

One could be ruled out by virtue of her age. Although the tech analyst hesitated. All anyone knew of Bossman’s taste in women stemmed from the minimal contact they’d had with Haley before she’d plunged the dagger of divorce into Hotch’s tender heart. There was no telling what the trauma had done to his views of feminine attractiveness.

_But…No…no, no, no…eighty-seven might be a comforting motherly or grandmotherly person to know, but Rossi said ‘lady friend.’ And that carries certain expectations, especially when dropped by the Italian Stallion._

Garcia turned her attention to the other two candidates. One was an obvious fashionista, which the tech analyst also found difficult to tie to her Unit Chief. He wasn’t a fussy dresser. And although he was impeccably turned out, he showed no sense of pride in showcasing himself.

_He’s not like Morgan. My Chocolate Adonis’s shirts look a size too small on purpose, so he can flex and be admired…_ A satisfied, little smirk touched her lips, making the now dried, whipped cream mustache crack a bit. _…and I’m so grateful for that…But Mon Capitan dresses with utilitarian intent._ She shook her head and set the Janna Bertrand who owned a fairly successful styling and image business aside.

But the third possibility was no better at first glance. A reformed high-end call girl who’d worked for an escort service that catered to visiting politicians and power-brokers. The business had been broken open and cleaned out over a year ago. Ms. Bertrand had moved on to host a voyeuristic website where she and several colleagues engaged in activities that skirted the edges of hardcore porn.

Garcia blinked at the photos and swallowed hard. _Would…would Hotch get involved with someone like that?_ She shook her head, but the motion morphed from denial to one more indicative of uncertainty.

Ms. Bertrand…known on her site by the affectionately playful nickname of ‘Boobie Bertie,’ was quite the stunner. Penelope could imagine her looking splendid on the Unit Chief’s arm. _And maybe Haley sent him into a tailspin and all he wants now is to have some fun…_ She sniffed. _God knows he probably didn’t get much when he was married. But...no…no, no, no…Then again…on the other hand…_

She got no further in her musings.

The phone rang. It was Hotch, determined to nip Rossi’s rumor factory in the bud.

“Garcia,…” He sounded uncharacteristically discomfited. Almost nervous. Which made the tech analyst nervous, too. “…I wondered if you had any lunch plans today?”

This was unexpected! “I…uh…uh…No, Sir…none…No…uh…”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. I think you’d have a lot in common with her…”

Garcia’s bespectacled eye widened, showing white around the rim, fixed as it was on the sultry image of ‘Boobie Bertie.’ But this was her boss and he never asked for anything without reason.

“Uh…sure…okay…uh…”

“I could pick you up, or we could meet…?” Hotch left the choice up to his tech analyst.

“That’s okay….I’ll…uh…I’ll meet you…” Penelope thought it prudent to have her own escape transportation handy. Just in case. _But this is Hotch! Rossi might dabble in the fringes of the flesh trade, but…Hotch!!???_

“Great! Here’s the address…”

If Aaron had given Janna’s studio as their meeting place, Garcia would have been able to research it and would have realized which Ms. Bertrand was Hotch’s new friend. But, ever the gentleman, he intended to buy the ladies lunch and let them feel each other out, leaving the invitation to visit her studio up to Janna.

Eye on the clock as it ticked its way toward midday, Garcia was useless for the next few hours.


	17. Mutual Admiration Society of Two

It was a simple burger joint just around the corner from Bertrand Styling.

Hotch was cognizant of the time constraints on Garcia’s lunch even though Rossi had given the green light for an extended midday break. If Janna went ahead with the tour of her business, Aaron didn’t want them to waste time commuting. He sat opposite the stylist in a booth by the window, keeping an eye out for Penelope’s approach.

And giving off enough nervous vibes for Janna to pick up on them.

“Aaron, what’s wrong?” Since he had called her and proposed the impromptu meeting, she had thought it was an off-the-cuff, informal, fun kind of get-together. But now, watching Hotch crane his neck to scan the sidewalk in both directions, she had a feeling there was more to it.

“Uh…nothing! Everything’s fine.” He pulled back, giving her his best, really-I’m-okay look. “Really…I’m okay.”

Janna shook her head, her grin as slyly knowing as something Sequin Tiger Kevin might have dished up. “You are such a _bad_ liar. Really, some people shouldn’t even try.”

Hotch expelled a sigh, seeming to deflate where he sat. “Sorry.” He re-inflated, taking a deep, preparatory breath. “I should tell you…Dave pulled a fast one. He…”

“Noooooo…” Her faux disbelief interrupted. “You mean that sweet, kind gentleman who’d never do _any_ thing to embarrass you?!”

The Unit Chief’s head hung, but a small, burgeoning smile played across his lips. “Okay. I get it. I should quit hiding stuff and learn to be a little more open…”

Janna matched his smile. “Well, for me it’s nice having a friend I don’t need to impress. You’re not a competitor, so I don’t need to put on airs about my work. And we’re not romantically involved, so I don’t agonize over how I look when we get together…” _But…oh!...you are so handsome and so much fun to sit across from…and the waitresses are all jealous of me and you don’t even know it…and I **like** that!..._ “…so whatever Dave has done, you don’t need to shield me from it. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“He dropped your name in front of Garcia and he may have led her to believe we _are_ romantically involved.” Hotch blurted the facts, then paused to gage Janna’s reaction.

She sat back, lips pursed, giving the impression of someone pursuing a variety of possibilities, considering every tangential consequence that might spring from the situation. Hotch watched her, finding it encouraging when her smile returned. She raised one eyebrow at him.

“So…how do you want to play it?” Both of Aaron’s brows rose. “I can be all over you and call you ‘honey,’ and make little kissy-faces at you, which might serve Dave right…or…we can just be what we are, and...” Janna’s eyes darted toward the street, widening slightly. “Uh-oh. You better decide fast, ‘cause I think that must be your co-worker headed this way. At least, from what you’ve told me about her, uh, _uniqueness_.”

Hotch twisted, looking toward whomever had caught the stylist’s attention. He grinned. Garcia was living up to the picture he’d painted. Tripping along on aurora borealis-beglittered pumps that caught the sun’s rays to blinding effect, the tech analyst was looking for the address her boss had provided. Eyes caked with magenta shadow peered through leopard-spotted, cat’s-eye frames.

Hotch breathed a sigh of satisfaction. He’d caught her on the right day wardrobe-wise. Beneath a light, vinyl raincoat color-blocked in purple and midnight blue that could only have come from Carnaby Street in the 60s, Garcia wore a knee-length dress that was drawing glances from passersby. If the coat was retro hippie-chic, the dress was pure Harajuku street style. Although Hotch had no idea of the nomenclature…Janna did.

Her eyes roved over the precise rows of flounces and ruffles covering the outfit in a thousand, different, tiny patterns and contrasting colors. Beads and bangles jounced as Garcia propelled herself forward, a small circus-worthy act all on its own. She grasped a large tote bag that matched her coat, achieving a peculiar elegance when one noticed the tiny, matching purple and midnight blue pinwheels she’d pressed into service as hair ornaments. Vagrant breezes made them spin.

People stared. Children pointed. But invariably, wide smiles followed in Penelope’s wake. Like a rainbow trailing joyful reminders of childhood innocence, the tech analyst made her way toward the restaurant.

“So how do you want to play it, Aaron?” Janna’s eyes were riveted on the woman as she neared. “ ‘Cause it’ll decide where she sits.”

“Huh?” Hotch blinked, missing the connection. He had a feeling he’d miss a _lot_ of things if he ever dove wholeheartedly into the strange undercurrents of the fashion world. “What do you mean?”

“If we want to play into Dave’s innuendoes, she’ll have to sit next to you so she can see all my little winks and smirks and bedroom eyes and…”

“I get it, I get it…” Aaron saw Garcia’s look of triumph as she realized she’d found her destination. “I don’t want any rumors running around about me at work. It’s just…I’m…I’m not comfortable with people talking about me.”

“Which explains this sudden lunch, right?” Janna’s grin held no judgment, but plenty of amusement. She shook her head at another demonstration of Rossi’s mischievous side. “Your friends like to tease you, Aaron.”

A gusty sigh. “I know.”

“It’s because they love you. And I bet there’ll be plenty of talk about you this afternoon no matter how we play it.” The look of dread in Hotch’s dark eyes tugged at Janna’s heart. Her smile turned sympathetic. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be good.”

As Hotch rose to greet the approaching Garcia, the women’s eyes locked.

Janna saw a cloud of color that made her feel happy without bothering to know why. She smiled her welcome.

Garcia saw the elegant fashionista who was definitely _not_ ‘Boobie Bertie.’

She smiled her relief.

 

xxxxxxx

 

It went better than Hotch had imagined possible.

Which meant that he did little more than observe as the ladies eyed each other with all kinds of curiosity. Fashion broke the ice when they gave up taking surreptitious glances and declared a mutual interest in inspecting each other’s attire.

Aaron watched from the safety of the sidelines as the women stood, each doing a slow turn so the other could fully appreciate every detail.

It took much longer for Janna to check out Garcia than vice versa. The techie was a veritable carnival ride compared to the stylist, but that didn’t mean Penelope didn’t admire the effect Hotch’s new friend achieved.

The stylist had been working when Aaron had called her, asking if she could free herself up for lunch. She’d arrived in formfitting jeans topped off with a blouse-like creation that made Garcia drool…

…and cemented the beginnings of a friendship based on mutual admiration and covetousness for various wardrobe elements.

Janna’s top was vintage 70s; purchased during her stint in L.A. from the now defunct, but still memorable, Aardvark’s Odd Ark. The blouse was formed from layer upon layer of chiffon scarves. A multitude of colors and patterns managed to blend into fanciful femininity that drifted and fluttered like butterfly’s wings when the stylist moved. Garcia would have added accessories and other garments just as noteworthy.

But Janna gave the piece the showcase it deserved, making it the star of her outfit rather than one in a cast of thousands.

By the time their food arrived, the women were deep in conversation, speaking of clothing the way others would recount fond memories of family.

The stylist leaned in over her burger platter. “Let’s hurry up and finish. I want to show you where I work…”

Garcia’s eyes gleamed.

And Hotch felt all his worries about workplace gossip disperse…like grains of aurora borealis glitter before fluttering chiffon.


	18. Brighter Birds

“Ohhhhh….Ohhhhh… Ohhhhh…”

Garcia’s first impression of Bertrand Styling almost made Hotch blush. The woman sounded orgasmic. She moved to the center of the studio and turned in slow, worshipful circles…hands drifting outward and up as though in supplication…lips parted…eyes wide.

Her reaction didn’t faze Janna at all. She took it as the complement the tech analyst intended. She crossed her arms and beamed a wide smile at her staff, the temporarily dumbfounded Alice and Kevin. “For the record, that’s how I feel every time I walk in here. I love my job.”

“Ohhhhh…Ohhhhh…this is not a _job_.” Garcia stopped revolving, opting to focus on a rack of evening gowns that were hard core glamour. “This is…this is…nirvana in tulle…paradise in burnt-out velvet…heaven with hemlines….Ohhhhh…” The tech analyst paused to wipe at moist eyes. “This…THIS…is where I want to go when I die!”

Kevin was the first to recover from the advent of his boss’s colorful guest. His gaze tracked Garcia from head to toe…from pin-wheeled hair ornaments to glittery pumps. “Oh, dear Lord in heaven…look what the Fashion Fairy’s cat dragged in…” He approached the strange presence in their midst with mincing steps. Leaning in, keeping a cautious space between himself and the once-again-pirouetting Penelope, he took a closer look at the extravagant detailing of her ruffled dress. “Oh, Sweet Mama…are you for _real_? ‘Cause, if you ain’t…I don’t wanna wake up.”

If Garcia had found her heaven, Kevin had found his soul-sister.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch hovered in the background.

It was a strange sensation for him to see his tech analyst feeling at home in a venue where _he_ was the one who seemed like the misfit. Most of the world operated within the somber, dark colors of an Aaron Hotchner. But this corner of it was decidedly devoted to a wider palette that included hues and tints and manners more appropriate to butterflies like Penelope.

She even knew how to relate to the indigenous life forms.

As soon as Kevin moved closer, Hotch had tensed without being aware of it. It wasn’t that he felt threatened. It was just that he was the outsider. He wasn’t used to the kind of banter and teasing that formed the local language. He watched Garcia and the Sequin Tiger, who today was a Glitter Dragon, as proclaimed by his t-shirt _du jour_ , dip and sway and circle each other as though engaged in some dance that was innate knowledge…almost instinct…while he skirted the perimeter.

 _I’m a different species_ , he thought. _This is how Penelope must feel coming to work every day. Janna feels like she’s in heaven…Garcia must feel just the opposite._ A wave of concern washed over him. Penelope had been virtually forced to accept a position with the FBI. She was indispensable in his eyes, but maybe she really did belong somewhere else...with people more like her.

Hotch’s dark, naturally tragic eyes followed what looked like a ritual of greeting for birds of exotic plumage, and felt like a drab, old crow who shouldn’t intrude.

He couldn’t help the empathy that was part of his professional toolbox, when it awakened with sympathy for the bird of paradise who worked in hell.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Janna stood back and watched Garcia and Kevin. But she also took note of Hotch.

_He’s used to being an outsider. It’s not his choice, but somehow it happened. He just never learned to belong. I wonder where that comes from?_

She recalled Rossi saying that his friend had had a hard time. She’d assumed that meant job-related dangers and hardships…and his divorce, of course. Now she wasn’t so sure. She felt drawn to his side.

Standing close enough to give Aaron’s shoulder a friendly bump, Janna also offered a reassuring grin. “Birds of a feather,” she said, tilting her head toward where Garcia and Kevin were sizing each other up while Alice looked on, approval glinting in her eye for the Technicolor newcomer.

Hotch’s attention turned to his new, unexpected friend. Somehow, she made him feel less alien by choosing to stand beside him. And she’d hit on the same simile of birds and plumage that he’d been thinking.

Janna could tell she was being assessed. “What? Tell me.”

The Unit Chief gave his head a small shake. “Nothing. Just…”

“What?”

He shrugged. “You’re a bridge. That’s all. Kind of special.”

The stylist’s brows rose, questioning. “ ‘A bridge?’ Care to elaborate, Mr. Profiler?” Her amused smile made Hotch decide to do so.

“Man is a social animal for the most part.” He ducked his head in a qualifying gesture. “…except for a certain subset that exhibit sociopathic tendencies. But in general, people seek peer groups. Or create them. It’s just my theory…how I label behavioral types…but there’s a really nice, little group that are capable of bridging the gap between the disparate tribes. They’re like peacemakers or couriers. I like to think they bind people together who would otherwise be lonely…who might otherwise miss some of the variety the world has to offer that can make life rich.”

He gave her a shy, sidelong glance and a lopsided smile. “You’re like that. It might explain part of your professional success, too. You can bring the bright feathers of _those_ birds…” He nodded toward where Garcia, Kevin and Alice were now deep in discussion. “…to clients who don’t know how to navigate the social structure of that particular tribe.” He shrugged again. “Just a personal theory, like I said.”

“Hmmmm…” Janna studied his profile, aware he was avoiding eye contact by pretending to be absorbed once again in the bird-dance of the more fashion-savvy. _I think he does that when he’s revealing something about himself that hits too close to home. I wonder…_

She surprised Hotch by linking her arm through his as she returned her regard to the threesome across the room who were now plundering some of Kevin’s handbags. “You may be right, Aaron, but did you ever think the bridge-people travel between tribes because they haven’t really found one of their own?” She felt him stiffen. Not with apprehension; it felt more like intense interest. Like someone who thought about the concept of alienation a lot and was always searching for more information…and might have just found some.

“Maybe you see them as lucky…as though they can fit in with either group; that it’s a matter of their choice. But maybe it’s more that they don’t fully belong anywhere. So they keep moving…never really at home.” She could feel his dark eyes looking down at her. She kept her focus elsewhere, choosing to let him gaze his fill. Somehow, this was an important moment, but she wasn’t sure she could explain why.

So Hotch did.

“Then maybe the people who don’t feel as though they belong anywhere…who keep moving, hoping they’ll find their tribe…maybe they’re really lucky if they happen to bump into each other?”

Janna’s smile grew wide. “That sounds about right.”

She could feel his smile without looking up at him as he placed a hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his arm, and returned to his observation of the birds whose feathers were brighter. Birds of a congenial, but different, species.

“Sounds about right to me, too.”

Hotch didn’t feel quite so alien in this part of Janna’s world anymore.


	19. Best Laid Plans

It was with great reluctance that Garcia dragged herself away from Bertrand Styling.

The place and its people exerted a magnetic pull on her. She could tell she’d be drawn back like a salmon to its spawning ground. Before she left, Kevin and Alice herded her into a far corner under the pretext of showing her yet another treasure trove of accessories; this one of diaphanous scarves with a weave as fine as spider’s silk.

“So…” Alice leaned in, voice low. “What’s the story on _him_?” She jutted her chin in Hotch’s direction. “How do you two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Kevin sidled close, as attracted to gossip as to glitter. “Man looks like that, he _got_ to have a past, know what I’m sayin’?”

If the scarves had been less enchanting, Penelope might have taken umbrage at anyone, even denizens of the fashion world, doubting her leader. As it was, the fabric shot with vagrant strands of copper and gold that wafted on breath and floated in her hands, distracted her enough to diffuse any indignation.

“Ohhh…he’s wonderful,” Garcia sighed. “So are these.” She brandished a creamy length of silk, making the metallic threads shimmer.

Kevin was more used to the wonders of his workplace. He waved an impatient hand, causing the scarf to flutter off to one side. “No, girlfriend. We can see he’s a yummy little meal of perfect, but what kind of _after_ taste does he leave?”

Alice sniffed at her co-worker, pert nose turned upward in annoyance. “Speak plain English, Kev. We’re running out of time.” She turned her attention to Garcia. “Aaron’s adorable. He’s polite. He’s shy. He’s an old-world gentleman. We can see that. The thing is…Janna has really bad luck with men. Is he gonna continue that streak?”

The tech analyst blinked, pulling herself away from the bewitching spell of silk chiffon. “Hotch? We work together. He’s our Bossman. He’s…he’s our White Knight. He’s…he’s the Leader of the Pack. He’s…” She could see this kind of hyperbole fell outside Alice’s request for ‘plain English.’

Garcia gave it another try; a sincere one.

She turned to where Hotch and Janna were talking in soft, private tones, clearly _not_ paying attention to the circus of color and activity around them. Looking back into the eager, inquisitive eyes of her new acquaintances, Penelope smiled. “Hotch is the poster boy for bravery, kindness, honesty and great hair.” She lifted one shoulder in a delicately dismissive shrug. “What else could a girl want?”

Kevin and Alice exchanged glances. In unison, slow smiles touched their lips.

The Sequin Tiger pulled an apricot-and-gold confection from the pile of scarves and draped it across Garcia’s shoulders. Her eyes lit up, fingers stroking the pastel perfection. “For me?”

Kevin fussed with arranging the folds and drapes. “Well…if Aaron’s pretty presence is gonna be with us for a while…only seems fair for you to take a little piece of fairyland back with you.”

He gave the fabric a final twitch, letting it fall into place. “B’sides…someday you might invite me to where _you_ spend your nine-to-five. If I see this hanging on your door, it’ll be like seein’ an old, familiar friend. I won’t feel like Mr. FBI-man over there.” His sigh was deep, heartfelt.

“Poor, sweet baby ain’t _never_ gonna feel at home in _my_ world.”

 

xxxxxxx

 

With both Garcia and Janna needing to get back to work, Hotch opted to accompany the tech analyst to her car.

Reining in his pace to match her truncated steps, a function of her footwear, the Unit Chief hoped he’d managed to squash Rossi’s rumor mill before the wheels had truly begun to turn. He gave Garcia a sidelong glance.

“So, what did you think of…all that?”

Hotch’s question opened the floodgates. “Ohhhh, Sir!! It was so…so…stupendous! Miraculous! So beyond fantasmagorically fabulous!! Thank you…thank you for inviting me to see it…and…and…” Penelope came to an abrupt halt, catching Hotch by surprise and making him backtrack a few steps to return to her side.

“Garcia?”

The techie’s eyes were moist with adoration. “Most of all, Sir,… _most_ of all, thank you for knowing that was something _I’d_ love. You’re just so…so… Oh, Sir!...”

Hotch should have seen it coming, but he wasn’t prepared. Penelope was someone who, on the rare occasions when words failed, would resort to spontaneous, intrusive displays of affection. She caught the Unit Chief’s un-sprained arm, pulled him down and hugged his neck as she pressed a joyous kiss on his cheek. She released him before he had a chance to react.

Hit-and-run was Garcia’s specialty.

Hotch blinked at his teammate’s enthusiasm.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I just thought…you know…clothes and…stuff…”

“Oh, you were right, Sir! But then, you’re a profiler, so of course you’re right…you’re _always_ right…I mean…” Penelope’s eyes widened behind her lenses. “…I mean you know people and you’re a great judge of character and…and…well, I think she’s just perfect for you, Sir! I think you two are just…just… _meant_ for…”

“Garcia!!” Hotch was beginning to see his plans for uprooting Rossi’s seeds of rumor going completely, unstoppably off the rails. “We’re not a couple! She’s…she’s just a friend.” He peered at Penelope’s profile, as, once again, she tripped down the sidewalk toward her ride. “You _do_ understand that, don’t you?”

Having reached her car, Garcia unlocked the door and opened it, stopping to turn a beaming smile on her boss before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Of course I understand, Sir! _Every_ one will understand!”

She gazed up admiringly at Hotch. For a moment he thought everything would be fine and Dave’s devious plan had been thwarted. But then Penelope’s brows rose and she pulled him down again.

“Oh…no, no, no…let me help you, Sir!” She scrubbed at his cheek; the one she’d kissed. After a moment she let him straighten and her radiant smile returned.

“Lipstick. All gone now.” She plumped down behind the wheel and gave a deeply satisfied sigh. “Wouldn’t want Janna to get the wrong idea…You know… _jealous_. Thanks again, Sir! This was just the best lunch break _ever_!”

Garcia pulled out into traffic, giving her Unit Chief a happy wave as she headed back to work, eager to share her experience with one and all.

She wondered briefly why Hotch looked so worried in her rearview mirror, but dismissed any concern of her own. It had been an absolutely wonderful day! She was sure it would only get better when she showed J.J. and Prentiss her new scarf and told them the story behind it involving a woman she hoped would make their leader very happy.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Rossi kept track of how long Garcia was gone.

After an hour and a half, he began to smile.

After two hours, he began to gloat.

When she flitted into the bullpen wreathed in smiles and a scarf his practiced eye _knew_ hadn’t been with her when she’d left, he rose and walked out to the catwalk overlooking the desks where Reid, Morgan and Prentiss worked. The tech analyst was fluttering and gesticulating to her colleagues…a wide-eyed audience. Her performance caught J.J.’s attention, bringing the liaison from her own office to stand by Rossi’s side at the railing.

“What’s going on?”

Dave grinned. “I believe Garcia had lunch with Hotch. Must’ve been interesting.”

J.J. tilted her head to one side, considering. “Really? Why’s that?”

“I’m only guessing, but I believe she _might_ have met a new friend who’s entered our Unit Chief’s life.” He shrugged, turning to look at J.J.. “Why don’t you go down? Looks like she has stories to tell.”

“Hmmmm…” The liaison had a feeling Rossi was being manipulative, but she needed more to go on. And Penelope _did_ look very animated.

As J.J. descended the steps to join her teammates, Dave could almost feel devil’s horns sprouting from his forehead.


	20. Chance Encounter

In the end, the damage wasn’t _too_ bad.

At least, not considering what it _could_ have been.

Garcia was fizzing over with hyperbole and excitement. More so than usual. She sang Janna’s praises, but sang the business, Bertrand Styling’s, even more. Knowing their teammate, the profilers who were more seasoned in the ways of love realized her opinions were skewed. Penelope was the only one who scrutinized Hotch’s clothing…well, to be fair, she scrutinized everyone’s apparel. And she wasn’t a profiler; she didn’t look below the surface if she didn’t have to.

Garcia liked the world to be pretty and friendly and filled with delightful surprises. She tried very, very hard in her non-BAU life to leave behind the ugliness that enveloped her work. So when she bubbled and gasped about Captain My Captain’s new lady-friend, it only took J.J., Morgan and Prentiss a little while to see that this wasn’t necessarily a romantic entanglement slipping its way into Hotch’s world.

Reid was another matter.

His eyes grew rounder. He listened to every praise-filled word Penelope gushed. He knew the tech analyst was a die-hard romantic and explored fantasy worlds with the same longing he did. Despite their different functions in the Bureau, Reid and Garcia shared a commonality.

Both yearned for a world that could never exist. Both had the gentle hearts of the truly innocent.

So Spencer listened and found himself hoping it was true. He considered himself lacking in the indefinable skills required to make friends. He looked out at the world from a singularly lonely place where his intellect had abandoned him…and wished for better. Especially when it came to the people he considered his family.

If Hotch, with his heart damaged by divorce, could find a way out of the maze of hurt his ex-wife had bequeathed him, then there was hope for everyone. Even Spencer.

So Reid smiled and gave Garcia the audience she craved: a similar soul in search of happy endings.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Rossi watched the pot he’d stirred simmer rather than boil. He shrugged.

It had been fun, but his main goal had been to distract Aaron from hovering. Dave placed a much higher value on distraction, especially of the feminine variety, than Hotch did. Rossi believed he’d redirected the younger man’s focus by weaponizing Garcia with romantic suppositions.

There were fewer importunate emails from the Unit Chief after that.

Mission accomplished.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Hotch’s arm began to feel better.

When he was cleared to return to work, it was with the condition that he stay at his desk. No onsite field involvement for another two weeks. He chafed at the restriction, but then surprised himself by finding it enjoyable.

It was a transitional period for his friendship with Janna, helping them move from their initial intensity to a new, more sustainable level, considering they were both workaholics devoted to their jobs. Both also realized the healthy necessity of taking a break every now and then.

To that end, they agreed to meet twice a week, either for lunch or after work for drinks and dinner.

Hotch found himself relaxing more and more in his new friend’s presence. Janna liked to play the game of chivalry, letting him flex his social muscles in a way Haley had never appreciated or supported. His ex-wife had wanted him to put on a good show for onlookers, but interest was always focused outward on how she was being perceived for having such a trophy at her disposal.

In short, Janna let Aaron be in control, even encouraging him to preen a little.

She delighted in keeping a surreptitious watch for this handsome man’s effect on others. It was fun to point it out and see Aaron’s pale complexion tinge with pink as he tried hard not to look when she’d tell him a group of diners or a bevy of waitresses were staring with frank admiration.

“Aaron! Three women. I think one took your picture with her phone!...Aaron! I dare you to stand up, drop something and bend over to pick it up!”

“Stop it!” The back of Hotch’s neck would grow warm. He’d concentrate on looking anywhere but where Janna indicated he had an audience. Yet, secretly, a neglected portion of his male ego would unfurl a little more each time.

Invariably, both friends would hunch over their plates, barely able to suppress giggles.

“You’re bad! Stop it!”

“You’re handsome! Enjoy it!” Janna would give his observers an arch look. “I know _I_ am…It’s fun to be out with a pretty man…”

 

xxxxxxx

 

It was on one such night that their outing took a different turn.

Flushed with a fine wine and the teasing of his friend, Hotch was escorting Janna back to her car. Exiting the restaurant where they’d both disgraced themselves with a fit of hilarity thanks to a pair of waitresses dueling for the Unit Chief’s attention, Hotch offered his arm to Janna. She loved such courtly gestures.

They were also celebrating the landmark of healing that had allowed him to remove his sling. Janna curled her fingers around his elbow, glancing back as the jealous eyes of the wait staff sighed over this small sign of privileged possession.

Smiling at her enjoyment of feminine one-upmanship, Hotch shook his head, looking down at her. “You _do_ know that you’re beautiful, don’t you, Janna?”

“I’m not. But I’m not complaining. I’d hate to have the kind of attention you draw. I wouldn’t feel safe. Men have a tendency to act on attraction beyond what women will.”

Hotch risked a quick glance back at the females watching him from the restaurant windows. “I guess I can understand that, but…” He slowed, causing Janna to look up at him. “…but I still think you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.”

Caught off guard, the stylist blinked. The honest affection behind this man’s eyes made her breath catch. Her smile grew ever wider. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.” She rose on tiptoe, speaking with a very loud, faux whisper close to his ear. “But you’re still handsomer than I’m beautiful.” She ended with a quick, but tender, kiss to his cheek.

“ _Aaron_?!”

Janna looked around to see who might know her ‘date,’ and saw a trim, blondish woman staring back at her. She felt Hotch’s muscles tighten under her hand.

“Hello, Haley.”

Aaron hadn’t told Janna everything, but he’d told her enough. And, too, she’d seen the marks this lovely man’s ex had left all over his ego and self-esteem. The stylist’s antennae were fully deployed.

She didn’t want to give Mrs. Hotchner any ammo to use against Aaron. Neither did she want to do or say anything that would make the woman take vengeance on her ex-husband by keeping his son from him with vague, invented excuses that would sidetrack his visiting rights.

But she also wanted to lift the blinders from Haley’s eyes and make her see what a precious treasure she’d discarded by the wayside.

Janna’s chin lifted. Her eyes narrowed.

This would be a tricky dance…


	21. Purrrrr-fectly Awful

“Aaron…Well, _this_ is a surprise...”

It might have been a pleasant nicety, except that Haley’s eyes were riveted on the woman holding her ex-husband’s arm. The woman she’d just seen kiss his cheek. The woman who had an elegance about her that could mean aristocracy…could mean old money…could mean glitterati…This was not the type the former Mrs. Hotchner would have tagged as a companion for Aaron.

Not in _her_ wake. Not the following act to _her_ star turn.

Aaron was supposed to stay single, but, if he _did_ take up with someone else, she was to be a mousy nonentity who would actually function more as a maid or housekeeper than anything else. She would maintain his home, satisfy his desires…although Haley didn’t dwell on that in her imaginings…and have nothing of interest to say for herself.

She definitely would _not_ be someone he laughed and had fun with.

Haley’s eyes were ice-chips; her smile limned with frost.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your…uh… _friend_?” She didn’t know that she’d just done Hotch a favor by reminding him of etiquette. Running into his ex-wife after a convivial meal spiced with enjoyable conversation and laughter, was like being thrown from a train into a glacier.

Being able to focus on the standard script for introductions gave him the breathing room he needed to get over the feeling of sleet entering every orifice.

“I’m sorry. Miss Janna Bertrand, this is Haley, my ex-wife.”

Haley caught the title indicating the woman wasn’t married. She’d always liked that Aaron stuck to the old-fashioned way of using ‘Miss’ rather than ‘Ms.’ Unless asked not to. To her way of thinking, such labels had been coined for a very good reason. To know where one stood. To know one’s enemies. And one’s enemy’s status.

“So nice to meet you.” Janna extended a well-manicured hand graced with tasteful accessories. Simple gold rings and a matching bangle that might be scattered with diamonds…Haley couldn’t tell in the subdued, evening light, but she hoped they were fake. Faux or not, they flashed as the women gripped fingers briefly with all the enthusiasm of dead fish.

“Likewise,” Haley purred, wondering just how well these two knew each other. “So, how did you meet?”

Janna’s smile widened, going intentionally blissful. “I saw him from a distance.” She looked up at Hotch, shifting so that she could hold his arm with both hands looped around his elbow. “He looked so good. ‘Intriguing’ I guess you could say. I just had to introduce myself.”

She looked back at Haley, nothing of challenge in her expression. _There! Now she knows Aaron didn’t make the first move. And that sounded so much better than ‘Gee, I thought the poor guy needed hel;p he was such a mess staring at a bunch of melons.’_

Hotch swallowed. He wasn’t completely daft. He knew a subtle, female battle was in progress. He could bear witness. He just didn’t know how to participate. So he stuck to the basics. “Janna’s in fashion. She owns her own company.”

“Oh…really? That sounds like a _lot_ of work. I’m surprised you have time to socialize, _Miss_ Bertrand.”

“It _is_ a lot of work. But that’s its own reward. And it’s given me valuable skills that I can use in other venues. Like the ability to tell true beauty.” She gave Hotch a sidelong look. “A way to recognize underlying quality, rather than be taken in by…” She returned her regard to Haley. “… _surfaces_. You know?”

The former Mrs. Hotchner’s eyes morphed from ice-chips to daggers.

 _Uh oh…_ Janna’s mind raced. _Did I go too far? I don’t want her to hurt Aaron because of me. I **hate** that she still can even though their marriage is over._

“Well, sometimes you have to get to know a thing before you can judge what’s beneath the surface…wouldn’t you say?” Haley was completely focused on the woman holding Aaron’s arm.

“Mmmmm…” It was a pleased sound, coming out on a contented sigh as Janna cast an adoring look up once again at Hotch’s tense profile. “I agree. When you find the real deal, it makes all that shopping around worth the effort. Jackpot.”

The stylist returned her regard to what felt more like an assailant than an ex-spouse. _I’ve got to focus her hostility on me, make it nothing to do with Aaron. She can hate me all she likes, but she has to see **me** as the target, not him._ Her smile took on a sly edge, one brow rising as she did a slow, insolent scan of Haley from head to toe. “You know…I could help you.” Janna gave a delicate, one-shouldered shrug. “ _If_ you want, that is.”

“ ‘ _Help_ me’?” The two words couldn’t have sounded more venomous.

Janna felt a tremble beneath her fingers where they gripped Hotch’s arm. _He knows that tone of voice. She’s used it on him before. She’s hurt him and it still aches where she placed her wounds._

“Sure. If you want. I mean, you know, in pulling yourself together…fashion-wise, anyway.”

Haley’s outrage exhibited itself in a jaw muscle that hardened to painful prominence. She was well-versed in the art of cat-speak. She knew Janna was implying that surface appearance was likely the only level on which Mrs. Hotchner could ever aspire to being ‘pulled together.’

“Well isn’t that a kind offer. But I expect you’ve already got your hands full turning sow’s ears into silk purses.” Haley lowered her voice, imitating confidentiality. “You know what they say…can’t be done.”

The stylist did another all-inclusive scan of Hotch’s ex, making sure she knew for whom the barb was meant. “Hmmm…yeah, I guess you’re right.” _This has gone on long enough. Poor Aaron!_ Her tone brightened. “Well, it was nice meeting you.” She pulled on the Unit Chief’s arm, effectively ending the confrontation before Haley could have the last word. “C’mon, Aaron. We really need to get going. Bye!” Janna gave his ex a finger-wiggling wave, thinking the woman resembled a simmering vat of vanilla pudding about to boil over.

Haley watched the couple until they turned a corner.

She would never admit that they looked stunning together. Elegant and easy. The tense muscles of her face loosened, then crumpled. _Why couldn’t he have been like that with me? He didn’t say anything. He just looked good with her._

Later that night, running the encounter over and over on an endless loop, ex-Mrs. Hotchner would find a way to convince herself that she hadn’t made a mistake.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Janna’s car was on the same street as the restaurant, but she pulled on Hotch’s arm, steering him around a corner and out of sight of Haley.

Once she was sure they weren’t being observed, she stopped, turning a tragic face toward Hotch. “Oh, Aaron. I am so, so sorry. That was…that was…”

“That was Haley.” He looked strained. Like a man who’d had a taste of rancid meat and couldn’t get the tang out of his mouth; the reek out of his nostrils.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I hope I didn’t make things worse for you…you know…with Jack and getting to see him…” Her face hardened. “…But I just couldn’t stand by and let her…let her _demean_ you! And I meant every word I said. You’re lovely. She’s not.” Janna’s expression implored him to believe her, but he looked sad, verging on genuine upset.

Hotch felt his lips tremble and pressed them together to regain control. “I want to say that everything’ll be fine, but I’d rather be honest. I don’t know. I stopped trying to predict Haley a long time ago.” The ambient glow of streetlights showed the glisten in his eyes as they filled. “I still can’t understand why it all ended when I tried so hard to make it work with her. And…” He lowered his gaze, hiding tears and shame. “…why does it feel like I’m cheating on her? Even now. Even just running into her like that. Why?”

“Because your heart isn’t free. Not yet.” Janna reached up and smoothed a lock of soot-black hair back into place.

“I know what that feels like. But you _will_ be free one day. We both will. Until then, maybe it’ll help to know that if she’s that mean when she sees you with someone else…then she’s not free either.”

Hotch looked up, searching his friend’s face and finding only honesty. Janna’s smile was sad, but sweet and soothing, too.

“You have more power than you think, Aaron. She just proved that.”

Hotch wasn’t so sure. But it was a nice thought to take home with him.

 

 


	22. When Worlds Collide

When Hotch returned to full, able-bodied duty, his social encounters with Janna became more sporadic.

Both were workaholics mired in their respective careers. Both missed the refreshing reminder their outings had provided that there was life beyond the confines of their jobs. After their third canceled ‘date’ for drinks thanks to work-related issues, Aaron decided to take matters into his own hands and cross a boundary he’d been loath to breach.

“Lunch. Unless a case comes in. There’s so much that might boil over in our consults right now that we’re all sticking close to the office…just in case. So…” His deep baritone hesitated. He took a breath and continued. “So, would it work for you to come by the Bureau and we’ll go from here?”

He was nervous about having a female friend show up at his office, especially after Rossi’s nearly catastrophic interference in the form of trailed hints and suggestive brow-raising at Garcia. Hotch was so much on the fence about it that, within the space of a few seconds, he began to regret asking…began hoping Janna wouldn’t be able to make it.

“Sure! That’d be interesting.” Her voice lowered into the realm of confidentiality. “To tell you the truth, Kevin’s been hinting…which for him is more like pouting…that he wishes Penelope would invite him over for a field trip. I’ve been telling him the FBI isn’t like other businesses. It’s not a place where tourists are welcome. But he keeps on about it…And I know he and Penelope have been talking and texting. So…” She sounded almost timid. “What do you think? If you and I had lunch and we let Kevin drop in on Penelope…?”

Possible objections flashed through Hotch’s mind. They were overwhelmed and swept away by the thought that the appearance of Kevin would deflect attention from Aaron’s true goal: time alone with Janna. And it would keep Garcia, one of the prime ports for gossip, occupied.

“I’ll let them know down in Security. What about Alice?”

“She’s not as curious as Kevin.” The lowered tone manifested again. “To tell you the truth, I think she’s a little afraid of what you represent.”

“What I represent?”

“You know…mayhem…lawlessness…violence…the dark side…”

Hotch swallowed. “I don’t ‘represent’ those things. I combat them!”

“Shhhhhh…don’t ever tell Kevin that. He’s been fantasizing something fierce about your role as an agent. I think Alice is more alarmed by his version of your activities than anything else. But she can hold down the fort while Kev and I come by, so let’s not disabuse her just yet. Okay?”

“Okay. See you soon.” Hotch’s grin was broad as he hung up.

Too late, he realized the bullpen populace were watching his uncharacteristic facial expression through his office windows.

 

xxxxxxx

 

Kevin and Janna were passed through security, given their ‘visitor’ badges and turned over to a junior agent to be escorted to the BAU.

Kevin was in heaven.

A connoisseur of the male form, everywhere he looked were fit, athletic, professionally maintained bodies wearing suits that made him itch to accessorize them. He stumbled a number of times as they traversed the corridors of the Bureau, attention diverted by passing agents whose garb cried out for tie-tacks and tastefully folded pocket handkerchiefs and…oh!...wouldn’t it be divine to add a waistcoat and transform the two-piece suits into three! He stumbled yet again as visions of silk jacquard, embossed and embroidered, cascaded through his mind’s eye in a gamut of deep, jewel tones that he felt would complement the somber colors these G-men seemed to favor.

“Kevin! Watch where you’re going!” Janna hissed at her colleague, taking his arm in a belated attempt to stave off his bumping into an agent engrossed in reading as he walked. “You’re going to hurt someone…or yourself!”

“Oh…darling…how _can_ I watch where I’m going when the local fauna are so…so…” He fanned himself. “Honey, it’s a _world_ of Aarons! Just like a box of sweets where they all look so good, you don’t know which one to pick.”

Janna gave his arm a reprimanding tug. “Behave! Or you’ll never be invited back.”

That unthinkable threat penetrated the miasma of appreciative longing fogging Kevin’s mind. He straightened up and made an effort to walk in a more appropriate manner.

Until the agent escorting them opened the doors to the BAU, ushering the visitors before him…and Kevin came to a complete stop. “Oh, dear lord in heaven.... What do we have here?” Said low in an almost reverential tone.

His eyes had swept the group in the bullpen. And fastened on one specimen that had a delightful air of quirkiness about him. Not to mention a façade crying out for styling.

Spencer Reid stared back, ever curious. But completely unsuspecting of the thoughts racing through the mind of the man looking down from the catwalk, and wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with what looked like a photo of Marilyn Monroe done entirely in rhinestones.

 

xxxxxxx

Hotch knew the moment his guests entered by the reactions in the bullpen.

It put him in mind of a host of meerkats he and Jack had once watched on a nature documentary. He tried to maintain his customary grim demeanor, but it was hard. Necks stretched, spines straight, chins up, heads turned in the direction of the newcomers…his team evinced a pack response to the advent of alien interlopers.

Hotch pressed his lips together, rose from his desk, and strode to meet his guests, feeling the eyes of his team burning holes in his back…sides…front…Every part of him was a target for speculation.

His anticipation of lunch with Janna made up for the discomfort. But there was more in store.

Hotch had been raised with the manners of a Southern gentleman, which meant he was hopelessly outdated and Victorian in the eyes of those less finely-bred. He’d been taught that when it came to shaking hands, it was improper for a man to extend his toward a lady. He must wait for her to indicate a willingness for such intimate contact by offering hers first. In Janna’s case, they had gone past the point of such formality. He would give her a brief hug. Not so with Kevin. So it was second nature for Hotch to extend his hand toward the man in greeting.

“Hi. Glad you could make it…”

It was Kevin’s first, second, and third nature to take advantage of every opportunity to toy with the deliciously uptight, outrageously handsome, and incredibly proper Unit Chief.

Tearing his eyes away from the gangly, young agent with the mismatched socks down in the bullpen, he grasped Hotch’s hand and pulled him off balance into a bear hug. Aaron was taller, but Kevin had the element of surprise on his side. Squeezing a good feel of his boss-lady’s hard-bodied friend, he gushed loud enough for all to hear…

“Aaron! Sweetie! Long time no see, you naughty, naughty boy!” He released his victim before Hotch had time to react. Stunned, the FBI agent held very still, trying to process what had just happened…or maybe on some instinctive level, Hotch thought that if he didn’t move, predators might not see him.

It was another hit-and-run display of public affection. It reminded Aaron of the occasional fond attacks he’d suffer at the lips and arms of Garcia. He heard only silence from the spectators in the bullpen. But his eyes tracked to J.J., visible through her office window, sitting at her desk, trying to look busy…her shoulders shaking with muffled mirth.

And Rossi. Staring at the entertainment on the catwalk, grinning from ear to ear.

Keeping his back to the bullpen, Hotch muttered under his breath, “Maybe I should take you to Penelope. This way…”

Gesturing the visitors back the way they had come, Aaron’s hand only shook a little.

He was glad Janna waited until they were beyond the BAU doors before she took it and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

Kevin noticed and gave a joyous, little skip. “When worlds collide, pretty Aaron, all you can do is hold on tight…”

 


	23. Different Tribes

Garcia was effervescing, so curious her nose positively itched with it.

Hotch had called her and asked if she would be in her lair for the next hour. She’d had no plans to leave for lunch, she’d told him. He’d made approving noises and hung up.

It was nothing. He’d told her nothing.

But it was enough to set off a myriad of fantasies bordered by questions, spiked with anticipation. The Unit Chief didn’t do things like that. If it was work-related, he’d lay all his cards on the table right from the start. And he was scrupulous about allowing his subordinates breaks and lunch hour. Not just because it was regulation, but because he wanted them to be able to set their stressful jobs aside and remember how to breathe; remember the simple things that made up a happy life…the things they fought to preserve each day.

Therefore, Captain My Captain had to have something up his well-tailored sleeve. And because it was a lunchtime thing…there was a chance it was fun. Or at least entertaining.

So, between storms of keyboard clicking, the tech analyst would totter to the door worthy of Fort Knox, heave it open, and peer into the corridor beyond, wondering if something untoward and unexpected and unusual might be coming her way. Breathless, she’d mince back to her desk and resume background checks on a host of suspects, and persons of interest, and potential Bureau employees.

Background checks were how Garcia filled her time between cases.

She had just finished one when the door behind her opened with its usual sturdy, hydraulic whoosh. Before she could even look up, she knew…it was what she’d been waiting for…this was _it_ …

“Penelopeeeeeee!!!” The tenor shriek gave Garcia a split-second’s warning before she was surrounded by two well-muscled arms and a cloud of aromatic, male cologne.

Keviiiiiin!!” She responded in kind, barely able to twist around to confront her happy assailant’s face…and, more importantly, his outfit _du jour_.

The two friends moved apart. It was clear to Hotch and Janna, standing in the doorway, that they shared similar goals of appraising each other’s clothing and accessories.

Garcia gasped…a wordless expression of appreciation. She stepped backwards for a better view. “Ohhhh…It’s Marilyn! Ohhhh…She’s beautiful.”

Kevin preened, stretching his bedazzled t-shirt to display the design without the distortion of underlying musculature. “She _is_ gorgeous, isn’t she? But so are you, Princess Cupcake.” He began to inspect Penelope’s necklace, an extravaganza of vintage, Bakelite carved to resemble cabbage roses in shades of ivory-pink. When Kevin’s eye was distracted by a glittering array of costumed troll dolls, Hotch spoke up.

“Uh…Garcia? Are you comfortable taking care of your guest while we…” The Unit Chief glanced down at Janna, trying to absorb the explosion of kitsch that adorned this high-tech lair. “…while we go grab a bite?”

“They want to be alone,” Kevin stage-whispered behind one hand, cluing Garcia in to the real motive behind this surprise visit.

“Oh! Uh, sure, Sir! This is…this is just…Oh!...” And once again, Penelope landed a surprise lip print on her boss’s cheek.

Hotch beat a hasty retreat before she realized she’d branded him with her spontaneous affection.

All the way out to the main lobby, he wondered why agents were staring. His gallant nature assumed it was for the attractiveness of his stylish companion.

It wasn’t until he and Janna were seated at a nearby coffee shop that she told him Garcia had left behind a very bright, very red, very noticeable splotch in the unmistakable shape of lips.

 

xxxxxxx

 

“Did you hear anything more from your ex-wife?”

Janna had been concerned that her catty encounter with Haley would have repercussions. Even though weeks had passed, she had a feeling the woman was the type to nurse a grudge, biding her time until a moment arose where she could strike out in vengeance.

“No.” Hotch shook his head, sipping coffee and keeping his eyes lowered. He couldn’t explain the perverse desire to speak no ill of his ex. Even when he was certain she would never hear of it.

When no more was offered, Janna nodded. “Good. I was worried I might have…” She shrugged. “…you know.”

Aaron took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cut you off. I just don’t like talking about her.” His pause was more eloquent than his words. “Still hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” The stylist decided a change of subject was in order. “So…Kevin and Penelope seem to have a lot in common.”

A small, fond smile replaced the sad look on Hotch’s face. “Strange, isn’t it? They’re such unique individuals, but that’s what brings them together. Almost ironic to find similarity in their differences.”

“I guess being different doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t have a tribe.”

“Or that you’ll never find it.”

“But sometimes it feels…”Janna faded out, her thoughts turning darker. She and Aaron didn’t get much time together. It seemed a waste to spend it delving into lonely places.

He glanced up at her, looking a little weary, a little sad, and impossibly handsome. _Looking just like Aaron._

He finished her sentence for her. “But sometimes it feels like you’ll never find it. Like there’s no place you belong…”

“…so you fill the empty spaces with work…become a workaholic who does their grocery shopping on the way home when everyone else is already tucked in for the night…”

“ And end up scavenging for dinner for one…and melons for breakfast. But if you’re lucky, you’ll find another tribe-less person.”

“A friend.”

He nodded. “A friend.” The slow smile she’d come to treasure spread across his face, transforming his features when it reached his eyes and tilted them into vulpine territory.

Janna leaned back in her chair and decided searching for tribes and lovers and success could wait. Because right now, right here, she was content. She became aware of other patrons casting surreptitious, appreciative glances at them…but mostly at him…and couldn’t help a grin of her own, shaking her head when she realized he was, and always would be, completely oblivious to his effect on others. _And I wouldn’t want him any other way._

“I’m glad you’re in my life, Aaron Hotchner.” She scanned the menu. “Now, we both have to get back to work soon, so let’s order.”

 

 

\-------- the end


End file.
